


Trash and Treasure

by New_day



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Bottom Hannibal Lecter, Bottom Will Graham, Cannibalism, Character Death, Dark Will Graham, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Happy Ending, M/M, Murder, Murder Husbands, Oral Sex, Top Hannibal Lecter, Top Will Graham, Will is a Mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-05-19 05:59:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 24,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14868005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/New_day/pseuds/New_day
Summary: An AU where Hannibal is a cannibal and Will finds out in a peculiar way...





	1. Prologue

It's raining again.

He is shivering with cold, clinging to his dog to get some warmth. His dog whimpers softly.

“What's wrong with you?” he asks his dog, petting him. “Are you hungry?”

He sighs. He is hungry as well. He hasn't eaten since yesterday. 

“Time to find some food,” he says to his dog and puts him on the ground. They are in one of Baltimore's best neighborhoods, fancy houses, big cars, affluent people. It probably won't take long before somebody calls the police, but maybe he will be lucky and find something before they are going to take notice of him.

He approaches one of the houses and looks around. Nobody is nearby. He quickly opens the garbage bin. It's still full, the trash hasn't been collected yet. He rummages through the trash and gasps. This is a gold mine for him and his dog.

Meat, some vegetable, everything obviously of the finest quality. A gourmet seems to live here. He opens his bag and starts putting the food inside. 

He smiles at his dog.

“We're going to have a feast tonight.”

His dog barks and wags his tail.

“Shh,” he says, putting his finger to his lips. “We don't want to draw attention.”

***

He opens the bag later, when they are at the place he has come to refer to as “home”. It's an abandoned building where they are undisturbed by others like them and by the police. He is sitting on the dirty, stained mattress, with his dog next to him.

He feeds the food to his dog first and then starts eating himself what seem to be remnants of a very tasty dinner. He can tell his dog likes it as well, he hasn't seen him eating with such enthusiasm for a long time.

“What kind of meat is this?” he asks his dog, who cocks his head, looking at his human companion questioningly.

“You don't know it either, do you? Whatever, it's delicious.”

He gulps down the food eagerly, smiling at his dog and stroking his soft fur. Tonight, they won't go to bed hungry.

***

He wakes up with a start in the middle of the night. He had a nightmare again. The same nightmare he has been having for three years. Since he had the breakdown and lost his job as a homicide detective. 

His dog senses that something is wrong and licks his face. The man smiles. 

“Sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you. Go back to sleep. Good night, Winston.”


	2. Chapter 2

He starts going to the house regularly, once a week, before the trash is collected. Winston always accompanies him.

They find pastry, sausage, tart, self-made bread and rolls, casserole and much more. He has never eaten so well in his whole life. He develops a special liking for the meat. It's so tasty, sweet and savory at the same time. He has never been very picky, not even when he used to have a house and a kitchen. He mostly ate simple dishes and sometimes fast food. But this food...it's incredible. Just thinking of it makes his mouth water already on the way to the trash can.

He starts wondering who lives at the house. A man? A woman? A family? A couple? Do they have a cook? Or do they do this wonderful cooking themselves? So far, he has never seen anybody at the house. He has been very careful not to be caught by the occupant or a neighbor, always filling his bag as quickly as he could and then leaving with Winston. He knows Winston likes the food as much as he does because the dog is always eager to go home when they leave the rich neighborhood with their filled bag, running faster than usual and pulling at the leash.

One day, when they are back home again, he rummages through the bag and finds something which makes him frown.

It's a small bone. First, he thinks it must be chicken or beef, but when he looks at it closer he knows it definitely isn't. He stares at the bone in his hand and remembers. The case. The one that pushed him over the edge. Ten dead girls. When they finally found them, all that was left of them was bones.

That's how he knows. How he knows this is definitely not chicken but a human metacarpal bone.

He drops it in shock and jumps up, staring at the bone disbelievingly. Winston raises his head and gives a short bark.

“It's alright, Winston,” he says soothingly, though he knows it's not true.

Nothing is alright.

He has been eating human remains for weeks now. The delicious food, the meat he couldn't place, it was... people.

He feels shock, horror, disgust, but then he suddenly starts laughing. He is laughing hysterically. Because it's just too absurd. Too surreal. 

Finally he calms down and glances at Winston who gives him a confused, slightly alarmed look, as if he is wondering what is wrong with him. 

“Well, Winston,” he says, smiling at his dog, “What are we going to do about this?”

***

He starts observing the house. He wears his least worn-out, least dirty clothes, hoping he won't be too conspicuous. Sometimes a passerby gives him a suspicious look, but luckily, they leave him alone. He tries to look like a regular guy walking his dog, while observing the house as unobtrusively as possible.

He soon finds out that the only occupant is a man, probably in his late forties or early fifties. The man always wears the finest suits and ties and leather shoes and has an air of superiority that he finds shallow and boring. He has always despised this kind of people, even before he was homeless and they started treating him like shit.

But it's hard to believe that this man is...a cannibal. A killer, probably, who murders his victims to harvest their meat. He wonders if he could be mistaken, but he knows he isn't.

One day, the man leaves the house in the evening by car, while he is watching him. He knows he has to seize the opportunity. He looks down at Winston. Should he take the dog with him? No, he decides, he won't endanger Winston. He ties his leash to a nearby tree.

“I'm sorry, but I have to go alone,” he says to the dog while petting his head. Winston whimpers softly, not used to being left behind.

Breaking into the house is easy. As a former detective, he knows these tricks. He looks around. The house seems exactly as its occupant – artful, elaborate, but actually just stilted and vain. A beautiful facade to hide the horror behind, he thinks.

When he enters the well-equipped kitchen, he goes straight to the fridge, opening it and smiling at the sight of what is definitely a human heart.

“Got you”, he says.

He can feel the excitement, the thrill. He realizes how much he missed his job. And how bored and fed up with life he has been in the last three years.

Suddenly, there is a swift movement behind him. He freezes. He didn't hear anything at all, no car, nobody entering the house. How can that be? Before he can turn around, he feels somebody grabbing him. A hand seizes his throat, suffocating him. Panicking, he tries to fight, but there is no chance he will escape the tight grip. Fuck, that's it, he thinks. I hope somebody is going to take care of Winston.

Then he hears a calm voice with an indefinable accent whispering in his ear:

“I apologize for my rudeness, but your smell is atrocious indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a bit confusing that there are three "he's" in the chapter: Hannibal, Will and Winston. Hannibal's name is not mentioned because Will doesn't know it yet; Will's will be mentioned as soon as he introduces himself by his name because for some reason it seemed more appropriate that way. I hope it's still comprehensible.


	3. Chapter 3

He is standing in the shower, all of a tremble, still unable to process what just happened.

Why the hell did he want me to take a shower, he keeps asking himself. Soon I'm going to be breakfast anyway.

***

After commenting on his odor, the attacker loosened his grip, allowing him to turn around and take a closer look at the man he has been observing for weeks now. A handsome face, grayish-blonde hair, a friendly smile. Nobody would ever guess what this man is. Nobody except me, he thought, panic-stricken. Fuck me and my damn curiosity.

“If you don't mind, I would like you to take a shower,” the man said, still smiling. “I have a very acute sense of smell.”

He knew he had to play along with this freak if he wanted to stay alive.

“Of course,” he answered and forced himself to smile back at the man, trying to stay calm with all his might. He let himself be led down the hall, the man always one step behind him.

Finally, the man stopped in front of a door. “This is the bathroom,” he said with an inviting gesture.  
“You may use the shampoo and body wash, which will undoubtedly improve your smell immensely. You will find towels and a bathrobe in the cupboard.”

Still in a state of shock, he just nodded and entered the bathroom. To his relief, the man stayed outside, closing the door and turning the key. 

***

Now he's taking a shower, the first one in weeks and probably his very last one. He doesn't want to leave the bathroom, doesn't want to face this gruesome situation, but he knows he will have to eventually. He turns off the shower, steps out and towels himself, still shaking with fear. He looks around, wondering if there is something here he could use as a weapon, but of course there isn't. He will hardly be able to knock this killer over with a bottle of body wash or with the shower head.

He puts on the bathrobe, takes a deep breath and walks to the door.

“I'm ready,” he says, his voice trembling. The key is turned immediately.

The man opens the door, smiling at him. “Very well,” he says, making an inviting gesture again to lead him further down the hall.

Where are we going, he wonders. Probably to a place where this guy butchers his victims, maybe in the basement or the garage. He turns around and lunges at the man, in a desperate attempt to overwhelm him. But it's no use. The other man quickly seizes him and smashes his head against the wall. The attack makes him feel dizzy and causes a wound on his forehead. He can feel the pain and the dripping blood.

“I would advise you not to try that again,” the man says in a detached voice, pushing him forward. He doesn't answer but just walks down the hall mechanically, not resisting anymore.

To his surprise, the man leads him to the living room, which is as big as the apartment he used to live in and as pompous as the rest of the house.

“Please take a seat,” the man says, and he sits down on the couch, hugging himself to prevent the man from seeing how much he is trembling.

The man takes a seat in an armchair opposite him.

“May I know your name?” The man asks him.

Why, he wants to ask, you are going to kill and eat me anyway. Why bother asking for my name?

Instead, he says: “My name is Will. Will Graham.”

He doesn't ask the other man for his name, and he doesn't introduce himself.

The man smiles and says: “Well, Will, I see you found my gift.”

What is he talking about? “Your – gift?” Will asks, “The food?”

“I was not referring to the food,” the man answers, “Though I certainly hope that you liked it. I meant the gift that made you see.”

“What?” Will is staring at him. “You mean – the bone? You put it there on purpose? Do you – want to get caught?”

The man is smiling again. “I don't intend to be caught and I won't,” he says. “I was merely curious what would happen. And I'm very pleased with the outcome. I'm glad you chose to see.”

Will scoffs. “I used to be a homicide detective. I've seen many corpses. I know a metacarpal bone when I see one.”

“But still, most people in your position would have chosen not to see anyway, shrinking away from the horror, from the fact that they have been consuming human flesh. You didn't. Instead, you even came here to find out more, despite the danger. That's very interesting.”

I can't believe I'm having a conversation with a cannibal about eating humans, Will thinks, but he knows he has to keep talking. As long as they are talking, there's still a chance he will stay alive.

“Speaking of danger- what are you going to do with me?” Will asks, and the man gives him a scrutinizing look.

“You realize I can't let you go,” he answers.

Will swallows. “Yes. I know. So you – are going to kill me?”

Again, the man smiles his inscrutable smile.

“I didn't say that.”

He gives Will another thorough look, making him feel more and more uncomfortable in his bathrobe. The man's gaze is lingering on his face, on his body. The creep is checking me out, Will realizes appalled. And he likes what he sees.

That's why, Will thinks, feeling sick to his stomach. That's why he didn't kill me yet and why he wanted me to take a shower. This sick, deranged killer is into me. He's probably going to fuck me before killing and eating me.


	4. Chapter 4

Fortunately, Will's fears are not confirmed that night. His captor leads him to another room with an adjoining bathroom, but makes no attempt to touch him.

“This is the guest room. You may sleep here,” the man says. “If you require something, don't hesitate to knock on the door. I will hear it, I'm nearby. Is there anything else I can do for you, Will?”

Will scoffs. Yes, he thinks. You could set me free. But then he suddenly realizes that there is indeed something the guy can do. Something important, something Will completely forgot about. How could he?

“Winston,” he says. “He's waiting for me to come back and will be upset if I don't...”

“Who's Winston,” the man interrupts him, frowning slightly. “Your – friend?”

“Yes,” Will answers. “My friend. My dog. I tied him to a tree outside your house. He needs me, and I need him here. He was the only one who was there for me when I lost my job, my wife and...” He stops, embarrassed by his ramble.

The man's frown disappears. “I see. Well, unfortunately, I'm not particularly fond of dogs and don't want to have one in the house. But I'm willing to bring him to the animal shelter, and...”

“No,” Will exclaims, almost screaming. “Don't. He won't like it there. He needs a home. Please.”

He looks at the other man pleadingly. Without thinking, he takes one step towards him and drops to his knees.

“Please,” he repeats, looking up. “I need him back. I'll do anything.” It's true, he realizes. He would do literally anything to get Winston back and make sure he's okay. What a relief it would be to have Winston here, not to be alone with this freak anymore. He knows he is being selfish because bringing Winston here would mean putting him in danger, but the dog would help him to cope, as he so often did in the past. And should the creep ever try to hurt him, he will defend Winston's life with his own.

The other man looks down at Will kneeing on the floor. He fixates him intently and slowly brings his hand to Will's face. Will can feel fingertips softly touching his hair, sending shivers down his spine.

Suddenly, the man drops his hand abruptly and says: “Stand up, Will. I told you, I don't want to have a dog in the house. Whatever you are trying to do won't change that. But I'm going to ask a colleague to take care of your dog. In contrast to me, she is very fond of animals and a dog owner herself.”

Will stands up quickly. I almost had him, he thinks. He was almost willing to bring Winston here. Maybe he will someday, I don't care what I have to do for it. But for the moment, he knows he will have to content himself with the fact that Winston will be in good hands. If the guy is telling him the truth, that is. If this colleague even exists.

“What kind of colleague?” he asks. “A fellow cannibal?”

The man smiles. “No. A fellow psychiatrist.”

For a moment, Will just stares at him. Then he breaks out in hysterical laughter, just like he did when he found out what he had been eaten for weeks. The man looks at him in consternation.

“Of course,” Will says. “I should have guessed. That makes you the third psychiatrist to fuck me over.”

***

Will spends the night locked up in the guest room. Surprisingly, he doesn't have one of his nightmares for a change. His captor visits him in the morning, telling him he has to work and will be back in the evening. He brings him food, scrambled eggs with sausage and cucumber sandwiches. Will eats the sandwiches and eggs and leaves the sausage on the plate. As soon as he is alone, he tries for two hours to force open the door, but without any success. He finally gives up, knowing that it's futile. The cannibal wanted Will to break into the house, but he clearly doesn't want him to leave this room and has taken precautions.

Will is looking around the room, which fortunately is a bit more modest than the rest of the house. There are large shelves filled with books in many different languages. English, Latin, Greek, French, Italian and some languages he isn't even able to identify. Will wonders if the creep is able to speak all these languages. Impossible, he thinks. He probably just put the books here to show off.

To his surprise, Will realizes that he is slowly starting to adapt to the situation. He is still anxious and alert and the fact that he is confined to this room makes him feel slightly claustrophobic, but at least he is not in an acute state of shock and terror anymore. Will is quite sure the man is not planing to kill him in the near future. And the incident last night made Will realize that though his captor is obviously attracted to him, he is not a rapist. Oddly, even this creepy psycho seems to have standards. I'll find a way to use it to my advantage, Will thinks. I'm going to find a way to use this guy's attraction to me to manipulate him and to finally get out of here.

***

It's 7:30 pm. when he hears a soft knocking on the door.

“Will? May I come in?”

“Yes,” Will answers, and the other man unlocks the door and enters the room, carrying a tray with food.

“Good evening. I just wanted to tell you that your dog is fine. He's at my colleagues' place. She immediately took a liking to him and was willing to take him in.”

Will smiles. “I'm glad to hear that.”

The man smiles back at him. “I have a suggestion, Will. Given your negative experiences with therapy, I would like to become your new therapist, to make amends for my colleagues' mistakes.”

Will stares at him. He didn't just say that, I must have misheard, he thinks. “What??”

“I think I could be of great help to you, Will. I would like to assist you.”

Will scoffs. “Assist me with what?”

“With becoming your true self,” the man answers. “I see great potential in you.”

***

As crazy as this is, Will decided to play along. It wouldn't do him any good to antagonize his captor, and if Will is honest with himself, he is curious. What kind of psychiatrist might a cannibalistic killer possibly be? Well, he is soon going to find out.

After dinner – Will just ate the salad and vegetable and didn't touch the meat – the man sits down in a chair opposite Will's own in the guest room.

“Well,” Will says, “How do I call my psychiatrist? How am I supposed to address you, Dr...?”

“You may call me Dr. Lecter.”

“Dr. Lecter? Is that your real name?”

The man nods. “Yes.”

“Never heard it before. Where does it come from?”

Lecter frowns. “This is not about me, Will. It's about you. I would like you to tell me what you meant when you said that I'm the third psychiatrist to...” he stops, clearly not willing to repeat Will's words.

“Fuck me over? Well,” Will sighs. “I guess it all began when everybody started to believe that I was a psychopath who wanted to kill people.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and commenting. :)
> 
> This chapter's plot is basically Will telling his story. A lot of talking and not much else happening, but important for Will's characterization.

“When I started working as a homicide detective”, Will explains, "I found out that I had a certain...ability. I realized that when being at a crime scene, I was able to feel what the killer felt. I can't really explain, but somehow, I could assume their point of view and knew why they did what they did. I knew their...design.”

“What a fascinating gift,” Lecter says, leaning forward in his chair. Will can tell he is positively intrigued.

Will sighs. “I'm not so sure about that. Sometimes, it felt rather like a curse. To be honest, I'm surprised that you even believe me. I knew my co-workers wouldn't have, so I kept it to myself. We solved several murder cases due to my ability. I knew things about the killers nobody else did, which helped us to catch them. Nobody understood how I did it, and I just used to say that the evidence explained it, you just had to know how to interpret it. And then...we found the girls. Ten girls, killed in two decades. When they were found, there wasn't...much left of them. And again, I solved the case, because I had an understanding of the killer and his crimes nobody else had. Eventually, we caught him, he was incarcerated, and the families could at least bury their children. So everything went well, or as well as it could, considering ten girls had been killed, but suddenly...I just couldn't take it any more.”

“What couldn't you take anymore, Will?” Lecter asks, who has been listening attentively.

“The...cruelty,” Will says, groping for the right words, “The ruthlessness and brutality. I knew how the killer felt. I knew how much he had enjoyed what he did. And I knew how much the girls had suffered. It was unbearable. It had never been easy for me to see things from a killer's point of view, it had always affected me to a certain extent, but somehow, I had been able to cope. This time it was different, maybe because it was one of the worst cases I had ever worked on, maybe because I had recently married a woman who had a son, and the mere idea that somebody could hurt him the way the girls had been hurt was unbearable. I started having nightmares about this killer. I still have. It was so bad that I was afraid of going to sleep and stayed up all night. But even when I was awake, I was haunted by the killer and his crimes. So I thought it might be a good idea to get counseling and contacted the police department's psychologist. The biggest mistake of my life. When I told the psychologist about my ability, I could tell he didn't believe one word I said. He thought I was just a liar who told crazy stories to show off. And it was even worse. He believed that I...was fascinated with this killer. That I pretended to be able to feel like him because I sympathized with him and his crimes. And he told my boss and my colleagues about this. Basically, he said that I was a ticking time bomb, a psychopath, fascinated with murder and probably on the verge of committing one himself, and should be relieved of duty.”

“That was an unacceptable breach of doctor-patient confidentiality. Besides, even if the psychologist had been right, one can hardly be released for one's thoughts,” Lecter says with a frown.

Will nods. “Yes, I know. But...I think Dr. Chilton made it sound quite dramatic. And my co-workers had probably noticed already that something had been off with me recently. So my boss suggested inpatient treatment in a mental hospital to get some rest and 'to learn to cope with our job's challenges', as he put it. I agreed, as a gesture of goodwill and because I thought it might actually do me some good. Maybe they would believe me, maybe they would help me to deal with my ability and with the nightmares. I wasn't able to do my work properly anyway, I was always exhausted and on edge. I needed rest, a timeout.”

“But in the hospital they didn't believe you either?” Lecter asks.

Will smiles bitterly. “Yes, they did. They did believe me, they even found a name for my condition. They called it empathy disorder. And they said I also had autistic traits and suffered from general anxiety disorder. They claimed I was unstable and unfit for duty and informed my boss. This time, it was my own fault. I knew my psychologist believed me, so I had given her permission to inform Jack - my boss-, hoping she would tell him that I wasn't a dangerous psychopath. I wouldn't have guessed she'd declare me unfit for duty.” Will sighs. “So Jack told me I couldn't work as a homicide detective anymore, at least not for the time being. He offered me a job as a paper pusher in one of the offices, but that's just not me. Despite everything, I liked my job. I liked catching killers, it made me feel righteous, useful. I couldn't imagine doing anything else. So I quit.”

“I must admit that you have indeed received poor treatment by my colleagues, Will. I deeply regret that.“ Lecter says. “How did your wife cope? You mentioned before that she left you?”

Will sighs again. “Yeah, Molly. It was hard for her. We weren't partners anymore, I was just a burden. When I lost my job, I got really depressed. I was a wreck, and finally, she couldn't take it anymore. She said she felt worn out and Wally – my stepson – needed a stable environment which I couldn't provide. So she left me. She kept all our dogs, except Winston, and the house, and I moved to a small apartment. We lived there for a while, until my money was spent. I didn't feel up to finding a new job because I still was depressed and had nightmares. I lost the apartment, and Winston and I became homeless. That was two years ago.”

“That's a very interesting, if quite sad story, Will,” Lecter says. “I've never heard anything like this. So you can really assume anybody's point of view, like, for example – mine?”

Will chuckles. “Yes, Dr. Lecter, I can even assume a crazy cannibal's point of view.”

Lecter gives Will a blank stare, but Will can tell he is offended. “That was really rude, Will. I'm not crazy. I'm fully aware of what I do and of the consequences of my actions.”

Will scoffs. “My apologies, Dr. Lecter. I presumed killing people to eat them was crazy. And if you are aware of the consequences, why are you doing it? You won't be able to get away with crimes like these forever. Sooner or later you are going to get caught.”

“That remains to be seen,” Lecter says. “I told you before, I don't intend to get caught and I won't.”

Will sighs. “If you say so. How do you plan to go on with this?” he asks, changing the subject. “Are you planning to keep me in this room forever? That won't work, I'm already feeling slightly claustrophobic. And you know I'm unstable. I have two psychiatrists to confirm that. I promise you, I'm going to freak out if you confine me to this room forever.”

“I might be willing to give you free rein in the house,” Lecter answers. “Provided you promise me that you won't try to escape.”

Will can't help but laugh. “Are you serious? Of course I'd try to escape, and you know I would. Who wouldn't, given the circumstances? As soon as I'd have the opportunity, I'd sneak into the kitchen, get the sharpest knife and cut your throat.”

“You would cut my throat with a knife?” Lecter asks, smiling contentedly.

Will scoffs. “If you find this so enjoyable, why do you give me blunt knifes to cut my food instead of real ones? Yes, I would, or I'd find some other way to escape. You just have two options, Dr. Lecter. You have to kill me or set me free. You can't keep me here forever. You should decide what to do with me.” He gives the doctor a defiant look. Will knows he's playing with fire, but he senses that Lecter will appreciate this. He wants a worthy opponent, somebody who speaks his mind, not a scared victim. The more I show him that I'm not afraid, the better my chances of survival are, Will thinks.

“Well, there might also be a third option,” Lecter says.

“And what would that be?” Will asks suspiciously.

Lecter doesn't answer, but just gives him an inscrutable smile.


	6. Chapter 6

After having been held prisoner for a week, his situation starts dragging Will down.

At first, captivity seemed more or less bearable. When Will realized that Lecter wasn't going to kill him immediately, he was even able to appreciate some positive aspects – a bathroom, a bed, clean sheets, delicious food. The new circumstances he found himself in, strange and scary as they were, offered him a distraction, an escape from his dull, pointless life on the streets. He was busy adapting to his new environment and most of all to his strange, enigmatic captor.

But finally, Will can't avoid the reality of the situation anymore.

He spends his days alone in the guest room and sees Lecter only in the morning and in the evening. Will can't stop wondering what the man is planning to do with him. What did he mean by the third option besides killing or releasing him? Does he hope Will is going to develop some kind of Stockholm syndrome, bonding with his captor and staying with him willingly? Will shudders. This is never going to happen, he says to himself. I'd rather have him kill me.

He realizes how lonely he feels without Winston, how important the dog has become to him during the last two years. He misses Winston's companionship, his warm body cuddled up to him, his barking, the wet tongue that licked his face in the morning to wake him.

Will knows there is no chance of escaping this room. Both the windows and the door are bolted and barred, fresh air is let inside the room by a ventilation system. He must have planed this, Will thinks, horrified. He must have watched me, probably from the start, planning this and preparing this room.

He often fantasizes about attacking Lecter, imagines lunging at him when he enters the room or during their 'therapy sessions'. Strangling him, knocking him down, kicking him in the face while he is lying on the floor. But in reality, Will knows that he wouldn't stand a chance to defeat this killer. He used to be in good shape when he was a detective, but the years on the street have worn him out. He remembers vividly his only attempt to attack his captor, which resulted in a bleeding wound on his forehead and probably a mild concussion.

Fear, hopelessness and an increasing feeling of claustrophobia dash Will's spirits. He browses the bookshelves for something to read to distract himself. The books are mostly classic literary works and nonfiction books about medicine, science and psychology. Will tries to read Bram Stoker's 'Dracula', but is not able to concentrate and finally curls up on the bed, lying there motionless all day.

This is how Lecter finds him in the evening.

“Will? Are you alright?”

The psychiatrist sits down at Will's bedside, giving him a concerned look. He's afraid his new toy is broken, Will thinks.

“No,” he answers, “I'm not alright, Dr. Lecter. I miss my dog, and I can't stand this anymore. I can't stand being in this room all day. I've been on the streets for the last two years, I'm not used to being confined. Besides, you know I have a disposition toward depression, and I'm feeling really miserable. I told you before, I'm going to freak out. I can't go on like this.”

Lecter reaches out his hand, approaching Will. Will forces himself not to recoil, and Lecter puts his hand on Will's shoulder. 

“I'm sorry to hear that, Will,” he says. “Concerning your dog, I can tell you that I talked to my colleague, Dr. Bloom, just the other day. She assured me that your dog was fine and had adjusted well.”

Will smiles despite himself. “I'm glad to hear that. But still, I miss him. I'd like to have a picture of him at least.”

Lecter smiles back at him, his hand still on Will's shoulder. “Of course. I'll see to that.”

Will fights the urge to push him off. He knows that Lecter appreciates his provocations during their therapy sessions, but Will is not sure how he would respond to the fact that Will is physically repelled by him. Will is relieved that though the psychiatrist enjoys some sick, criminal activities, rape is not one of them. But there is no denying that Lecter is attracted to Will. The long, pleased looks he gives him are unmistakable. Lecter's attention makes Will feel uncomfortable. He gives his captor a furtive glance. It's not his appearance that repels Will, not his face with the pouty lips and high cheekbones, nor his erect, somewhat graceful posture, not even his silly suits. It's what Lecter is, what he does. The mere idea of kissing these lips who have probably just eaten human flesh is gross, Will thinks, trying not to remember that he has eaten human flesh as well, if unknowingly.

“I think I know how to raise your spirits, Will, “ Lecter interrupts his thoughts. “I'd like to make a suggestion.”

“What suggestion, Dr. Lecter?” Will asks, glad Lecter can't read his mind. 

“I am going to have a guest for dinner tomorrow, Will. And I'd like you very much to join us.”

Will stares at him. “What? You want me to join you and your guest? Aren't you afraid I'm going to tell them what's going on here?”

Lecter doesn't answer, and suddenly, Will understands. “You want to kill them,” he whispers. “You want to kill and...eat them, don't you? That's why you want me to join you, because you know they won't get out here alive. But what if...what if we band together, your guest and I? What if we kill you?”

Lecter just smiles and says: “I'm positive this is not going to happen, Will.”


	7. Chapter 7

Will sighs. This is silly, he thinks, looking down at himself. I look like an idiot. I look like I'm trying to copy Lecter.

He thought about refusing to wear the clothes Lecter gave him, the plaid suit with a matching vest, a silk shirt and a tie with a ridiculous pattern, brown leather shoes that probably cost more than he used to spend for his clothes in a whole year. But then he said to himself, why bother? I already agreed to join this weird dinner, I can as well dress like a fool. Who cares.

He takes a look at Winston's picture on the nightstand and smiles. In the picture, an obviously happy Winston is petted by a young, dark-haired woman, smiling at him. Will wonders what the pretty, young woman is to Lecter. Just a colleague? Or also a friend? Maybe – even more than a friend? Who cares, he thinks again. All that matters is that Winston is in good hands. He's probably better off with her than on the streets with me, let alone here, Will muses bitterly.

There is a knock on the door, and a soft voice says: “Will? Are you ready?”

Will sighs again and answers: “Yes, I'm ready, Dr Lecter.”

The door is unlocked, and Lecter is entering the room, smiling at Will appreciatively. His suit looks exactly like Will's, apart from the fact that while Will's has dark colors, Lecter's is bright blue. Thank god, Will thinks, at least I'm not going to be the most flamboyant person in the room.

Lecter frowns slightly and approaches Will, who makes an effort not to flinch when Lecter touches his tie. “It's crooked,” Lecter says, adjusting it. 

“Well,” Will answers flusteredly, Lecter's proximity making his flesh crawl, “It's not easy to tie a tie without a mirror.” There aren't any mirrors, not in the guest room, nor in the bathroom. Apparently Lecter is afraid Will might smash them and hurt Lecter with the fragments – or himself, which wouldn't be unlikely if this will go on for much longer, Will thinks.

Lecter ignores his remark and just says: “Dinner is ready and our guest has just arrived. You may accompany me, Will.”

They walk down the hall, just like they did the first night. Hardly more than week ago, but to Will, it seems like an eternity. Down the stairs, down the hall again, to the dining room. Lecter is behind Will, and Will knows he won't try anything this time. Because he doesn't want to get his head smashed against the wall again – and, if he is honest with himself, because he is curious. He wants to know what will happen. Who is this mysterious dinner guest? Is it someone he knows? No matter who he is, I'm going to team up with him, Will thinks. He can't be worse than Lecter. We are going to kill him, and I'll be free again.

They enter the dining room. A dark room, dark walls, a big, wooden table in the center. A creepy picture of a woman and a swan over the fireplace. But Will doesn't notice these things. All he sees is the man sitting at the table, smirking.

“Mason Verger,” he whispers. “What are you doing here?”

The man grins at him. “I'm sorry, but I don't remember you. Did we have the pleasure of meeting before?”

Will snorts. “No, we didn't, Mr. Verger. Not in person. But unfortunately, my colleagues specialized in sexual assault did. I used to be a detective, and they told me a lot about you.”

“Well,” Verger says indifferently, “If I may remind you, nothing ever came of it. Who would believe some deprived kids willing to do anything for a candy bar rather than the heir to the Verger meatpacking dynasty?”

Will clenches his fists, trying with all his might to prevent himself from attacking Mason. He thinks about Wally, about his case with the ten dead girls, about all the suffering caused by people like Mason. The worst part was that the pig got away with it, thanks to his rich, influential family. The children sexually abused by Mason at the Christian summer camp had retracted their words, claiming everything was a lie. Will's colleagues had been angry and frustrated. They were sure that the Vergers had paid the families -all of them poor- for keeping silent, but nothing could be proven. 

Will glances at Lecter, who is watching them in silence, with a delighted smile. He is smart, Will thinks. He knew exactly what kind of pig to serve me.

***

They are sitting together at the dining table, Lecter at the head and Will and Verger at his right and left respectively. They are eating a suckling pig, brined and roasted, which was provided by Mason. Will can hardly eat a bite. He keeps wondering what will happen and if Lecter is going to kill Mason. No matter what, he thinks, there's no way I'm going to team up with this piece of shit. I'd rather have him dead than Lecter, even if that means I'm going to stay here forever. He knows this is crazy, but it's the truth. He would enjoy seeing Verger get killed, seeing that smug grin disappear from his face to be replaced by horror and fear. He gives Lecter a questioning look. Lecter just smiles at him and asks Verger:

“How is your sister, Mason?”

Mason smirks. “Well, you know Margot, Dr. Lecter. She has many issues. She's - pathological. But I think she really benefits from your therapy. I'm glad to meet her psychiatrist eventually. I might even consider therapy for myself.”

“Of course,” Lecter answers, still smiling. “You can make an appointment any time.”

“I must admit I was a bit surprised you agreed to see me,” Mason says. “I'm sure she told you horrible things that I've done – the same kind of lies these kids at the summer camp told,” he adds, grinning at Will.

“I can't tell you what Margot confessed to me,” Lecter answers. “Fortunately for you, I can't tell anyone.”

Verger just chuckles and gives Will another look. “May I ask why you joined our dinner? Just to talk about the good, funny times I used to have with your colleagues? How do you know Dr Lecter? Are you a patient of his?”

“No,” Lecter answers in Will's place. “Will is my friend.”

Will scoffs. “No, I'm not. I'm a homeless guy who rummaged Lecter's trash and invaded his home and who he now holds captive in his guest room,” he says, giving Lecter a defiant look.

Verger laughs. “Wow, what an interesting story. I suspected you were an unconventional psychiatrist, but keeping a bum as your sex slave – that really takes the cake, Dr Lecter. Is that why you wanted him to join us?” He looks at Will, smirking impudently. “He's a bit too old for me, but I'd enjoy participating anyway.”

Will takes a deep breath. Then he glances at Lecter, who is observing him attentively, and says just one word.

“Please.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and commenting. :)

Hannibal gives Will a smile, then he addresses Mason: ”I really don't like the way you are talking about my friend, Mason. You are very discourteous, which is unspeakably ugly to me.”

Mason grins at him. “No offense, I didn't mean to insult your - friend,” he says, emphasizing the last word derisively. “If you want him for yourself, I'm okay with it. As I said, he's not my preferred age-group anyway.” He chuckles.

Hannibal looks at Will, ignoring Mason's answer. “Observe or participate?”

Suddenly, Lecter's plan dawns on Will. He wants us to kill him together, he realizes. That's what he's hoping for, that's why he wanted me to attend this dinner, that's why he's keeping me here in the first place. He wants me to become a killer, like him. Will glances at Mason. He admits to himself that he is tempted to participate in killing him, but he won't. I won't give Hannibal what he wants, Will decides. He may keep me prisoner, but he won't make me a killer. I won't let him manipulate me like I'm a puppet on a string. I'd rather be confined to this damn room forever.

“Observe,” he answers. “I'm not going to kill him. He's your guest, doctor. Do what you want with him.”

With satisfaction, Will sees the disappointment in Lecter's eyes.

Mason looks at them, his eyes narrowing. “What are you talking about? Have you both gone crazy? Is this supposed to be a joke?”

Lecter walks to the fireplace, taking something from the mantelpiece. It's some kind of antique, medieval ax, which Will had thought to be an eccentric decoration piece.

Lecter takes the ax, approaching Mason, who is staring at him wide-eyed and, for once, speechless.

Lecter says: “Being the heir to the Verger meatpacking dynasty, you surely know, Mason, that before captive bolt pistols were in use, pigs were rendered unconscious before slaughter by a blow to the head with the blunt part of an ax. I still prefer this traditional approach, though modern methods may be more merciful. But in my opinion, mercy has no place at the table.”

With this words, Lecter hauls off and hits Mason with the ax.

***

They are in Lecter's basement. This is where he slaughters his pigs, this is the place Will had feared to be brought to the first night. Will helped Lecter to carry Mason here and watched him cover his ridiculous blue plaid suit with an even more ridiculous plastic suit.

After undressing Mason, Lecter attaches him to a rail by his feet, hanging him upside down. He cuts open his chest, exsanguinating him, catching the blood in a basin. Then he harvests Mason's heart, lungs and intestines.

Will watches him work, thinking how oddly elegant Lecter performs even this horrific task. He knows this should disgust him, he shouldn't even be able to watch this. He should be screaming with horror, vomiting, maybe crying, fainting, anything. But instead, he feels completely calm. If Will is honest with himself, he even enjoys it, enjoys watching this pig getting what he deserves. What is happening to me, he thinks. What has he done to me.

At one point, Lecter interrupts his work, looking at Will. “You say you are observing, Will,” he says, “But this is participation.”

“Well,” Will answers coolly, “Technically, this is being an accessory to murder. But still, that's not the same as killing someone, Dr. Lecter.”

“No, it is not,” Lecter agrees. He smiles at Will and continues his work.

***

The next morning, Lecter brings him food, as he does every day.

“A little protein scramble to start the day,” Lecter says, putting the tray on the table. “Some eggs, some sausage.”

Will looks down at the plate. He can feel his mouth watering. He has always enjoyed eating meat, but since being here, he has never touched the meat Lecter served him. However, Will did already taste Lecter's meat, before knowing what it was, and he still remembers the taste vividly, savory and sweet, like nothing he had ever eaten before. Will knows what the meat on his plate is – or who, he thinks, and he knows he shouldn't eat it. Because he shouldn't give Lecter a reason to triumph. And because you just don't do something like that. Any person more or less sane just doesn't eat people.

But finally, Will takes the fork and starts eating. What the hell, he thinks. I'm trapped in a room, held captive by a cannibal. I watched him kill and slaughter a human being without trying to interfere. I've already eaten human meat. Everything here is so far from sane, from normal moral standards. What difference does it make. 

Will eats a piece of sausage. This shouldn't be so tasty, he thinks. I really missed this. “It's delicious,” he says. “Thank you.”

Lecter watches him eat, smiling delightedly. “My pleasure.”

For a moment, Lecter is silent, then he says thoughtfully: “I think your psychiatrist at the hospital completely misunderstood you, Will. She just saw you as an accumulation of disorders and neuroses, unstable, fragile like a little teacup. But I think she was entirely wrong.”

“Do you? Well, unfortunately, most people would agree with her. And how do you see me, Dr Lecter?” Will asks.

Lecter smiles at him and answers softly: “I don't see you as unstable and defective, Will, on the contrary. You are strong and powerful and will be even more so after becoming your true self. I am going to assist you. To me, you are like a caterpillar. It is my task to feed it and to whisper through the chrysalis, but what will hatch follows its own nature and is beyond me. But though I can't entirely predict it, I know it will be beautiful.”

Will stares at him. I was right, he thinks. He wants to influence me, wants to assist me in becoming a killer. Because he thinks that's my true self. That's what he's trying to tell me in his elaborate, crazy way. Will tries to stay calm and just smiles back at Lecter, saying: “A caterpillar? That's not very flattering, Dr Lecter. If I were an animal, I'd rather be a lion or a wolf.”

Lecter chuckles, showing slightly crooked teeth. Suddenly, he reaches out and starts caressing Will's cheek. 

Will freezes, taken by surprise, not knowing what to say or do. A few moments later, Lecter withdraws his hand and stands up. “I'm glad you enjoyed the meat, Will. There will be more for dinner. I'll see you in the evening.”


	9. Chapter 9

It's only a few days later when Lecter invites Will to join him for another dinner.

Lecter brings him a new suit similar to the one before, and when Will puts it on, he realizes that he feels less silly than the last time. I suppose if you can get used to eating people, you can probably get used to anything, he thinks.

There is a knock on the door. “Come in,” Will says, and Lecter turns the key and enters the room.

He smiles at Will, obviously content with the way Will looks. Even Will's tie seems to be alright this time. 

“We can go down to the dining room now. Everything is ready, and our guest is awaiting us.”

Will sighs. “This guest – it's someone I know, isn't it?”

Lecter just smiles. “You will see, Will.”

***

When Will enters the dining room, the guest is already sitting at the table again. But this time, Will isn't even shocked or surprised when seeing him.

“I suspected it would be you,” he says.

The man gives him a surprised look and frowns. “Mr – Graham, if I remember correctly? I must say, Dr Lecter,” he says, addressing the psychiatrist, “When you told me that a friend of yours would join us tonight, the idea he might be the detective who tried to get me arrested for murder didn't even cross my mind.”

Will ignores him and asks Lecter: “How do you even know this – person?”

Lecter smiles at Will. “He used to be my patient. After doing some research and finding out that you know each other, I thought it might be a pleasant idea to arrange a re-encounter.”

Will looks at Lecter confusedly. “Your patient? Why would this scum consider therapy? He has no reason to do so. He was so proud to get away with murder by blaming an innocent man, he doesn't even know what remorse is.”

“Even if this were true, Will, which of course I can neither confirm nor deny due to doctor-patient confidentiality,” Lecter answers, “the worst of us need someone to talk to as well.”

Will stares at Lecter's guest hatefully. “You wanted to – brag didn't you? That's why you were seeing a therapist. You told Dr Lecter about your crimes and boasted about how you got away with them.”

The man sighs. “This is not what I expected. I was looking forward to having a fancy dinner with Dr Lecter, having heard about his famous dinner parties, but I didn't come here to listen to your accusations again, Mr Graham. I'd like to be on my way now.”

He stands up, but quickly, Will walks to his chair and puts his hands on the guest's shoulders, pushing him down.

“Stay, Ingram.”

Since he has known that Lecter was planning a dinner again, Will has been wondering who the guest might be this time. Clark Ingram was one of the first ones he thought of. It had to be someone he knew, someone even worse than Mason, someone evil enough to make Will want to kill him. And Clark Ingram met all criteria. A social worker who killed sixteen women and framed his client for it. The client, Peter Bernadone, was a troubled man, psychologically disadvantaged due to a head injury. But he was a good person who couldn't hurt a fly. Unfortunately, Will was the only one to see that. Nobody else believed Peter, and the evidence was against him. He was charged with murder and sentenced to life imprisonment in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Will visited him there once, and it was pitiful. Peter was a wreck, suffering from depression and anxiety, his only comfort was a rat he kept as a pet. And while Peter is confined to a cage, trapped like an animal, this piece of shit is probably still killing women, Will thinks.

Will glances at the mantelpiece. The ax is gone. He gives Lecter a look. “What about your preferred approach to dealing with pigs?”

Lecter just smiles. “I am going to leave that to you today, Will.”

Ingram tries to stand up again. “There's no evidence I did the things you blamed me for, Mr. Graham. So would you please let me go,” he says, annoyed.

“No,” Will answers. “I can't.” 

It's true, Will realizes, he can't. If he lets Ingram go, he will go on killing. He won't stop, why should he? He is a predator, incapable of feeling remorse or guilt. He won't confess to his crimes either, not voluntarily, and a forced confession wouldn't be admissible evidence.

Suddenly, Will feels a quiet sense of power. He couldn't help the women Ingram killed, and he couldn't help Peter. But he knows for sure that Ingram won't leave this room alive. Today, there will be a reckoning.

Will grabs the back of Ingram's chair and knocks the chair down. It falls on the floor with a loud thud, and Ingram quickly crawls out of the chair, staring at Will anxiously. “Please, let me go,” he says, “ I didn't kill these women. Peter did. He was a very damaged individual. He was confused.”

“I'm not,” Will answers. He lunges at Ingram, kneeing over him on the floor and punching him in the face. Ingram tries to fight back, but in his state of murderous frenzy, Will seems to develop almost uncanny powers and subdues him easily. While hitting him, Will remembers all the killers he came across as a homicidal detective. Eventually, he has the opportunity to end a killer's life. It makes him feel righteous, exited, enthralled by this unique experience.

Finally, Will comes back to his senses. He looks down at Ingram, who is lying on the floor, motionless, his face beaten to a pulp, his eyes blank, obviously dead.

Will exchanges glances with Lecter and smiles at him, suddenly feeling a strong bond between them. He knows, Will thinks. He sees. He is the only one who understands what this feels like, how beautiful it is. 

“You should be quite pleased, Will,” Lecter says. “I am.”

Will smirks. “Of course you are, Dr. Lecter. That's exactly what you wanted. I didn't want to kill someone, but you knew I couldn't let Ingram go. But to be honest – I am pleased. I've never felt as alive as I did when I was killing him.”

“I'm glad that you are finally embracing your true nature,” Lecter answers, smiling. “Your design is evolving, and you allow yourself to be intimate with your instincts.”

“Well, it sounds really sophisticated when you put it that way,” Will answers. “But the truth is that doing bad things to bad people just makes me feel good. You have no idea how often I fantasized about killing when I was a homicide detective. I've seen too many people get away with the most horrific crimes. But of course I didn't, because you can't be a detective and a vigilante at the same time. But I'm not a homicide detective anymore. And you are right, Dr Lecter. I've changed. Being here with you, watching you kill and killing someone myself is changing the way I think. I believe I really start embracing my true nature, because of you. Because you make me know myself, see myself, like nobody else ever did before.”

Will walks over to Lecter and looks him in the eye. Lecter smiles at him, his eyes shimmering, as if he is about to cry. Without thinking, Will cups Lecter's face and kisses his soft, pouty lips. Lecter's breathing quickens, his tongue is slipping into Will's mouth, his body is pressing against Will's. Will can feel Lecter's erection and his hands on his ass and thinks, while kissing him deeply: What am I doing.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short and just smut, but still important. :)

What am I doing, Will thinks. He is lying on his back on the dining table, his legs lifted and his knees bent. Lecter is standing in front him, between Will's legs, fucking him, while Ingram's body is still lying on the floor.

Now he's got everything he wanted. He made me a killer, and now he made me his lover. How can I even let him to do this, after everything he has done to me.

Will winces when he feels Lecter's cock stretching his hole. Despite the lube Lecter used, it hurts. Will is clearly out of practice. He had sex only with two men while in college, experimenting, like many students did. Since that time he has just been with women, hasn't even considered himself bisexual. Will is not sure what this is, but he knows it's not just sex. When they were looking at each other after Will killed Ingram, it was as if Lecter could see right through him, as if he knew everything about Will, his thoughts, his desires, his darkest fantasies. It was unsettling, scary almost, but strangely compelling and...intimate. It was as if they were one. At that moment, when Will kissed Lecter, it seemed only natural to bring this feeling of intimacy to a new, even more intense physical level. They started tearing at each other's clothes, undressing each other, and Will felt a greed, a hunger he had never experienced before. But now, lying on a dining table and being fucked by the cannibal who has been holding him captive for almost two weeks, Will is beginning to have second thoughts.

Lecter stops moving, sensing Will's discomfort, and gives him a scrutinizing look. “Are you alright, Will?”

Will holds his gaze. He realizes that he still feels a weirdly intense connection with Lecter, an urge to be as close to him as possible. Despite the pain, he doesn't want this to stop. Putting his doubts aside, he lifts his hips and spreads his legs a bit more, giving his consent. “Yes, I'm alright.”

Lecter pushes into him again, carefully, but with determination. Slowly, Will finds himself getting used to the invasion and relaxing. He starts moving, finding a rhythm with Lecter. The pain recedes and is finally replaced by pleasure and arousal, and Will moans softly, looking up at Lecter again. Will's cock hardens, and smiling, Lecter takes it in his hand and jerks Will off.

“Yes...,” Will says, moaning, “Yes...don't stop...touch me...fuck me...”

Lecter starts thrusting into him faster, harder, while still stroking Will's cock. Will can feel the pleasure building up in every inch of his body. He locks eyes with Lecter, who gives him a piercing glance, and Will comes, whimpering, his whole body convulsing, spilling his seed on Lecter's hand and his own belly. Lecter gives him a wide, open smile and pulls out, making Will feel empty and abandoned.

“I want to come on you, Will,” he says softly. “Do you want me to?”

“Yes,” Will answers, “I want you to.” Then he adds, “Please,” knowing the effect this single word has on Lecter.

Will watches Lecter, who is still standing between his legs, jerking off. He is beautiful, Will thinks while observing the other man, the concentrated look on his face, the hard cock in his hand, the well-built body, covered in sweat. He has never thought of another man as being beautiful before.

It takes Lecter just a few strokes to come, his face slightly contorted, but without making a sound, his cum spurting on Will's body.

Will enjoys the wetness and the smell of Lecter's seed, feeling marked and claimed by him. He thinks that he should probably feel bad about what he just did, given the whole situation, given what Lecter is, given everything Lecter has done to him. He should be ashamed of himself. But instead, he just feels relaxed and comfortable and without any regrets.

Will looks at the other man and asks him: “What's your name?”

The man smiles. He reaches out and caresses Will's body, spreading his own sperm.

“Hannibal,” he says. “My name is Hannibal.”


	11. Chapter 11

“You realize that this is beneath you, Hannibal,” Will says.

He is sitting on top of Hannibal, Hannibal's soft cock still inside him, his sperm dripping out of him. They are both still out of breath. Hannibal gives Will a questioning look.

“This is beneath me?” he asks, stroking Will's legs. “I don't think so. I didn't hear you complaining either, but if you prefer me to leave you alone, I will.”

Will shakes his head. “No, that's not what I mean. It's just – it's as if Mason was right. It's as if you are keeping me as your sex slave.”

Hannibal frowns. “What a rude thing to say, Will. You know it's not true. I never forced you to do anything. Like I said, if you want me to leave you alone, I will.”

Will scoffs. “And what do I have left then? I don't have anything here but you. You took everything from me. You confined me here, to this damn room. You wouldn't even let me have my dog. I'm completely dependent on you. The only thing I have is the kick I get when you fuck me. Is that what you want, Hannibal? That's...unhealthy. Sooner or later, I'm going to hate you. But I'll probably still let you fuck me, because I've got nothing else to do here. We can't go on like this. We got too close. You have to release me.”

Hannibal is looking at him blankly. “You know I can't.”

“Why not? I told you, I won't go to the police. Even if I wanted to, I can't because I'm involved as well. I saw you killing someone without interfering, and you saw me killing someone without interfering. I'm as guilty as you are. And besides, I don't want you to get arrested, Hannibal. But you have to set me free. Please. I told you before that I can't stand it in here. Killing and fucking didn't change that.”

“I can't let you go,” Hannibal answers.

“But why,” Will asks irascibly. “I told you I won't...” Suddenly, he understands. He interrupts himself. He leans forward, putting his hands on Hannibal's chest, and looks him in the eye.

“I won't leave,” he says softly. “Where would I go? I'm going to stay with you. I just don't want to be trapped in this room anymore. Please don't do that to me if you don't want me to hate you. If you want to keep me, you have to set me free. It's as simple as that.”

Hannibal looks at Will skeptically. “You are going to stay here?”

“Yes,” Will answers. “I promise. On one condition.”

“And what would that be?” Hannibal asks suspiciously.

“Winston. I want Winston back. I won't stay here without him.” Despite himself, the sour look Hannibal gives him almost makes Will laugh.

“You know I'm not fond of dogs, Will.”

“Well, you will have to compromise. You owe me one, you've kept me here for almost three weeks now. That's all I ask of you.”

Hannibal sighs. “Very well. But you have to make sure that he won't ruin the furniture and the carpets.”

Will laughs. “I will. You won't even notice that he's here. So – you are going to release me?”

“Yes,” Hannibal answers. “I promise.”

Will feels exhilarated, overjoyed, almost like he did after killing Ingram. I'm going to be free, he thinks. And Winston will be back with me.

Smiling at Hannibal, he starts moving, feeling Hannibal's cock harden again.

***

The next morning, Will is woken up by a tongue licking his face.

He grunts sleepily. “Hannibal, what -” Will opens his eyes. Brown eyes, light brown fur, a pink tongue. Winston, panting and yelping excitedly, obviously happy to see him again.

“Winston,” Will whispers, crying with joy. “You are back. I missed you so much.” He hugs the dog, and Winston barks, as if to agree with him. Will laughs, while still crying.

He gets up. Followed by Winston, Will walks to the door. He takes a deep breath and tries to open it. The door opens, and Will stares into the hall disbelievingly. He really did it, he thinks. He released me.

“Hannibal?” he shouts, but there is no answer. Apparently, Hannibal already left for work. Will wonders what to do now. He thinks about leaving. Maybe I should, he thinks. Maybe Hannibal will change his mind and will lock me in again. He's dangerous. He's unpredictable. I shouldn't stay here.

But in the end, he decides that he will. Because he doesn't have anywhere else to go. Because he got used to having a roof over his head and a bathroom and enough food every day.

But mostly, because of that crazy cannibal who captured him. Who corrupted him, made him a cannibal, a killer and his lover. Because he promised him not to leave. Will wonders if this is what Stockholm syndrome means. He chooses not to think about it.

***

Will takes Winston for a long walk, incredibly happy to finally be outside again. He breathes deeply, enjoying the fresh air, the sun, the trees, the people, the houses, the cars, just everything. It's overwhelming, after having experienced just the quietness of the guest room for three weeks. A few hours later, he returns to Hannibal's place, ringing the doorbell, hoping that Hannibal will be back already. He couldn't find a key and just closed the door when he left the house.

Hannibal opens, staring at Winston and Will. “You are back.”

Will scoffs. “Obviously. We went for a walk.” He enters the house, walking past Hannibal to the living room, Winston in tow. 

Before entering the living room, Will turns around, looking at Hannibal, who is still staring at him. “Thank you”, he says.

***

They are sitting in the living room, Will and Winston on the couch, Hannibal opposite them on a chair. Will noticed the frown on Hannibal's face when Winston jumped on the couch, but Hannibal didn't say anything. He is watching them in silence for a while, then he finally says:

“I want to celebrate this, Will.”

“Celebrate – what?”

“This. Us. I want to introduce you to my friends.”

Will starts feeling uncomfortable. This sounds as if Dr Lecter, renowned psychiatrist of the Baltimore high society, is planning to introduce him as his – lover? Partner? Will is not sure if he is ready for that.

“And what- what do you have in mind, Hannibal?” Will asks warily.

Hannibal smiles. “We are going to have a dinner party.”


	12. Chapter 12

Will still can't believe that he is finally free.

That Hannibal kept his promise and that he is now living with Hannibal, the man who imprisoned him. Will is still not sure what to make of their relationship, though Hannibal obviously regards them as a couple. Will didn't have many long term relationships before he met his wife, Molly, and even with her it was sometimes difficult. Will loved her and Wally, but there were times when he wondered if this marriage was a good idea. If he really could be the husband and the father he should be. He remembered feeling annoyed sometimes, irritated by their efforts to get his attention. At times like this, he just wanted to be alone, feeling estranged from the whole concept of family. Then he was ashamed of himself, wondering what was wrong with him. But now, after meeting Hannibal, he understands. He realizes that there has always been a part of him Molly didn't know and never would have understood. A part he had to hide from her, from everybody, even from himself.

It was Hannibal who finally saw this part, recognized it, accepted it. Hannibal knows him, knows Will's darkest places, and it doesn't make him shrink back, like it would have made Molly or anybody else. On the contrary, Hannibal is drawn to Will's darkness because it matches his own. Between them there is a feeling of closeness and intimacy, of mutual understanding and acceptance Will has never experienced before. This feeling grows even stronger after Will's release, when he starts living in Hannibal's house, sharing the master bedroom with him. It is intoxicating, addictive, exceptional. It almost seems to Will as if Hannibal is his drug. Will experiences a longing, a desire, a need that is beyond sexual, emotional and intellectual and at the same time all of these things. Will wants to crawl into Hannibal's brain, wants to see him and be seen by him, wants to share all of his thoughts. He wants to crawl under his skin, wants to touch him and be touched by him, wants to feel his hands, his tongue, his cock, his body, wants to taste his sperm, his sweat, his blood, wants to cling to him, dig his fingernails and his teeth into him, wants to be fucked, taken, claimed, devoured, defiled, until nothing is left of him. He knows his devotion should scare him, he wonders if it's pathological, but in the end, he doesn't care. Because he has never felt that good in his whole life.

But still, Will wonders if this is a relationship, an affair or maybe even a strange friendship with benefits. Because after all, they are so different. A former policeman, homeless, unstable, who loves dogs and used to enjoy fishing and repairing boat motors. A European psychiatrist and, as Hannibal told Will, former surgeon, who is a lover of the fine arts, educated, overconfident. Apart from their shared darkness, what could these two men have in common? 

Well, there are definitely a few things we both enjoy, Will thinks while he is on the bed on all fours with Hannibal behind him, thrusting into him. When Hannibal is at home, they hardly ever leave the bed, and if they do, they soon begin to kiss and to rip each other's clothes off, groping like teenagers, on the couch, on the floor or again on the dining table. Sometimes watched by Winston, when they are too distracted to take him out of the room. The dog always regards them with a tilted head, as if bewildered by their strange behavior. Sometimes he misinterprets Hannibal's actions as aggression against Will, growling and barking at Hannibal, which always causes Will to laugh and Hannibal to threaten to bring him to the dog shelter. This time Will took Winston out, and he is scratching at the door, whining softly, wanting to be let in. But Will is so concentrated on Hannibal that he doesn't even notice it. Every thrust makes him moan and beg for more. He thinks how weird it is that he enjoys this so much, that this feels so good. He can hardly remember the few experiences with men he had before he met Hannibal, but he knows they were nowhere near as enjoyable. It's because of him, Will thinks. It's because it's Hannibal who fucks me. 

***

Hannibal takes his time to plan the dinner party. He tells Will that the preparations will take about two month, which seems quite long to Will. When Hannibal shows him the invitations, Will is taken aback.

“Dr. Hannibal Lecter and Mr William Graham request the pleasure of your company at their dinner party,” he reads aloud. “Don't you think that's a bit – too much?”

“What exactly do you mean, Will?” Hannibal asks, frowning.

“Well,” Will answers uncomfortably, “I – I don't even know these people. And I'm not the host, I'm just – your guest.”

Hannibal looks Will in the eye. “You live here. With me. This is your house as much as mine.”

Will looks around. “If that's true, I'd like to make a few changes to the decoration. I think your house is a bit gloomy, and the antlers and this picture of the woman and the swan– that's a bit – creepy.”

Will thought Hannibal might be offended, but he seems pleased. “Of course you may make some changes. I want you to feel at home.”

Will can't help himself. “Great, how about a shopping trip to IKEA tomorrow?” The look of sheer terror on Hannibal's face is priceless. Will can't stop laughing. Finally, Hannibal realizes that he was joking, sighing with relief and smiling at him. Will smiles back, and suddenly finds himself thinking: I'm happy. I'm not afraid, I don't have nightmares anymore, I'm not depressed. This is unbelievable. How is it even possible that this man makes me so happy, after everything that happened between us. In the back of his mind, a tiny, but persistent voice keeps saying: Don't feel so safe. And don't ever forget what he is.

***

A day before the dinner party, Hannibal brings home a cooler bag containing different organs. Will watches him unpack it in the kitchen. 

“Liver, kidney, heart, lungs – brains?” Will grimaces. “I'm not going to eat brains.”

“Wait till you taste it,” Hannibal answers. “I'm sure you will like it.”

“This is -” Will hesitates. “This is all -people, isn't it?”

Hannibal just nods.

“How many people did you kill for this, Hannibal? And where did you do it? Why not here, at home?”

“Four,” Hannibal says. “I have other places to kill and butcher. Sometimes that's more convenient than doing it at home.”

“And the people you killed – who were they? People like Mason and Ingram?”

Hannibal is silent for a moment, then he answers: “They all deserved to be slaughtered like pigs, Will.”

Will sighs. “To be honest, I'm a bit – disappointed. I thought that maybe we would – together...”

Will is ashamed to admit it. Although he witnessed a murder and committed a murder himself, he still has a hard time seeing himself as a killer. But the truth is that he misses it. He misses killing, misses the thrill and the feeling of power it gave him.

Hannibal smiles at him affectionately. “We will. Soon, but not this time. This dinner party is my gift to you. I'm going to take care of everything.”


	13. Chapter 13

Will is looking in the mirror. This time, he is wearing a suit he chose himself, at Hannibal's tailor's. It's good quality, but much less fancy than the suits Hannibal brought him before, black with a white shirt and a plain tie. Surprisingly, Hannibal also wears a suit that is quite modest, compared to his usual wardrobe. He probably wants our clothes to match, Will thinks.

Hannibal watches Will with a fond smile, then he walks over to him to adjust his tie. Will remembers another occasion when Hannibal did the same. It was barely two and a half months ago, Will muses, but it seems like a lifetime. At that time, I was a prisoner, I was scared and depressed, I wasn't a killer yet and I was...straight. Will grins, thinking how incredible it is that so much can change in such a short amount of time.

“You look good, Will,” Hannibal says. 

“You too, Dr Lecter, “ Will answers jokingly. “Actually, you look so good that I'd like to rip your clothes off, but I guess we don't have time for that.”

“No, unfortunately, we don't,” Hannibal says with a smile. “The guests are going to arrive soon.” Right on cue, the doorbell rings, and Hannibal walks to the front door to welcome their guests.

Will follows him, a little nervous. He probably should have guessed that a dinner party thrown by Hannibal would be a big event, but he still didn't expect this. An orchestra playing classical music, waiters wearing black and white suits. Employees who help Hannibal in the kitchen, though Hannibal clearly is the chef. Will watched him cooking and could hardly believe how sexy he looked while wearing an apron and frying human kidneys. Hannibal told Will the names of all the dishes he prepared, making Will's head buzz with the pompous names: Crisp Lemon Calf Liver, Braised Beef Lungs, Parmesean Crumbled Lambs Brains, Prosciutto Roses, Heart Tatare...Now that the food is prepared, it makes Will think of a menu in a five star restaurant, the dishes are arranged in a decorative, beautiful way, and everything looks so delicious.

Will has to remind himself that all the food is actually people. It's bizarre, and it would have disgusted him a few month ago, but not anymore. In fact, he finds it hilarious. The Baltimore high society, so excited to be invited to one of Dr Lecter's famous dinner parties, not having the slightest idea that they are about to eat human meat. Will doesn't have much sympathy for this kind of people, still remembering how contemptuously they used to treat him when he was homeless. Once, when Winston was sick, Will was forced to panhandle money for a visit to the veterinarian. Especially the wealthy-looking people reacted in the most hostile, disrespectful way when Will asked them for money, saying things like: “Fuck off and get a job” or “Yeah, sure, your dog is sick. I won't give you one single cent, you'll spend it on drugs and booze anyway.”

What bothers Will, though, is the part he is expected to play at this dinner party. Dr Lecter's partner. It will be weird, Will thinks. What am I supposed to say when somebody asks me how we met? Maybe I should talk to Hannibal and we should make up a story. 

Will's thoughts are interrupted when Hannibal walks over to him, an elderly woman in tow. “Will,” he says, “May I introduce you to my friend, Mrs Komeda? Mrs Komeda, meet my partner, Will Graham.”

The woman sizes him up curiously. “I'm so happy to meet you, Mr Graham. When I got Hannibal's invitation, I was so excited. I had no idea he met someone.” She smiles at them. “I can tell you are a perfect match. May I ask how you met?” 

Will looks at Hannibal, who just gives Will an expectant glance. What the hell, Will thinks and decides to tell at least a part of the truth. He knows from personal experience that this is easier than telling a blatant lie, and he doesn't care what these people think of him anyway. “How we met? I was homeless and rummaged Hannibal's garbage for food,” Will says bluntly. “I discovered that the food I found was really tasty, and so I kept coming back, until Hannibal finally...noticed me. Then I...visited him at his home, we talked and got to know each other better, and after a short time, I moved in with Hannibal. Well...that's how we met.”

Mrs Komeda is clearly touched by Will's story, she even has tears in her eyes. “That's positively the most romantic love story I've ever heard!” she exclaims. Hannibal smiles, obviously amused by Will's words. Indeed, Will thinks, very romantic, especially the part when Hannibal smashed my head against the wall and then locked me in a room for three weeks. And when he murdered and butchered someone and I watched. And the part when I beat someone to death and afterwards Hannibal fucked me on the same dining room table that is now heaped with food.

“Hannibal," Will hears another woman's voice say, and he turns around. A young, dark-haired woman approaches them, and Will recognizes her immediately. It's Hannibal's colleague who took care of Winston. She is even prettier than in the picture. “Hello Alana,” Hannibal greets her, kissing her on the cheek. “I'm glad you came.”

The woman smiles. “Of course. I was looking forward to it.” She gives Will a scrutinizing look. “And you must be Will Graham, Hannibal's partner and Winston's owner? Nice to meet you, I've heard a lot about you. I'm Alana Bloom, Hannibal's friend and colleague.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” he says, smiling, wondering what Hannibal told this woman about him. “Thank you for taking care of Winston, but I'm glad he's back with me. It took me a little while to convince Hannibal that there are worse things than having a dog in the house.”

She chuckles. “I'm sure that wasn't easy. Hannibal can be quite stubborn,” she responds, winking at Hannibal.

Will smirks. “Tell me about it,” he answers. “We decided to keep Winston in our bedroom for today, though, so he wouldn't get in the way. You may see him, if you like.”

Alana nods. “Yes, I'd like to, maybe after dinner. He's such a cute dog, I really enjoyed taking care of him.”

They were a couple, Will thinks, it's obvious that they know each other...intimately. But she's definitely over it because she didn't even flinch when I said 'our bedroom.'

When Alana and Mrs Komeda are gone, Will gives Hannibal a reproachful look. “Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell me you were a couple?”

Hannibal seems amused. “Why should I have told you, Will? Besides, I wouldn't say we were a couple, it was rather an affair that didn't last very long. Alana is smart, sooner or later, she would have found out everything, and she doesn't have our appetite.” Now it's Hannibal who winks at Will. “So I had to end it, unfortunately. But Alana has moved on. In fact, she told me she recently met someone herself.”

“Good for her,” Will answers and is about to add something, when he suddenly hears a voice he had hoped never to hear again calling his name. I must have misheard, he thinks. This can't be real.

Slowly, Will turns around and finds himself facing Dr Frederick Chilton, the psychologist who believed him to be a dangerous psychopath. And behind him, there's his former boss, Jack Crawford.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for commenting, I mostly don't answer because I don't want to give too much of the story away, but I appreciate it. :)

“Hello, Will,” Jack greets him, smiling self-consciously. “Good evening, Dr Lecter. Thank you, for inviting me. I would have never guessed I'd be invited to one of your famous dinner parties. I think many people in Baltimore are envying me today.” He laughs, seeming a little tense.

Hannibal smiles. “I'm glad you made it, Mr Crawford.”

“Jack,” Jack corrects quickly. “No need for formalities, after all, you are Will's – partner. “ He clears his throat.

“In that case, you may of course call me Hannibal.”

Jack looks at Will, still a little insecure. “I – I don't know what to say,” Will stammers. “It's been a while, Jack.”

Jack nods. “Yes, that's true. But I can see you are doing better. I'm glad, Will.” He is smiling at Will, and Will smiles back.

“Yes, you are right, I'm doing better.”

“How nice to hear,” Dr Chilton barges in. “Hello, Will. I must say I was really surprised when I got your invitation. Both because you invited me in the first place and because I was wondering how you and someone like Dr Lecter...Well, as they say, there's no account for taste. It seems you hit the jackpot, Will. From a homeless person to the partner of one of Baltimore's most prestigious psychiatrists. What a career.” He smirks.

Will is about to give a harsh reply, and Hannibal quickly intervenes, saying “Good evening, Dr Chilton,”, seemingly polite, but Will knows him well enough to hear the contempt in his voice.

“Good evening, Dr Lecter,” Chilton responds eagerly. “I'm really glad to meet you. I always enjoy shoptalk with a colleague. I read your paper on evolutionary origins of social exclusion, very interesting. I'm currently writing a book, on psychopaths and...”

“Fascinating,” Hannibal interrupts him. “Excuse me, gentlemen, but I have to take care of the food, dinner is about to begin.” With this words, he retreats, walking to the kitchen. Will follows him quickly, grabbing his arm.

“What the fuck, Hannibal,” he hisses. “Why did you do that? Why the hell did you invite my former boss who fired me and this prick of a psychiatrist who started all the crap that ruined my life? What's gotten into you?”

Hannibal gives him a sideways glance and enters the kitchen. “I invited them because I was curious what would happen,” he answers while placing a plate on the kitchen counter and arranging food on it.

Will stares at him and scoffs. “Of course. Why not. Why not put your partner in an awkward situation, just because you're curious what will happen.” He realizes that it's the first time he referred to himself as Hannibal's partner. Hannibal noticed it as well, Will can tell by the way he is smiling at him. Despite himself, Will is smiling back. Whatever, he thinks. What does it matter anyway if Jack and Chilton are here. Maybe it's a good thing to show them I moved on and don't care about them anymore. And if anybody understands curiosity, it's me. After all, it was my own curiosity who made me end up here in the first place. Besides, thinking that Jack and Chilton are about to get a taste of Hannibal's special diet makes up for a little embarrassment.

***

Hannibal is sitting at the head of the table, Will is next to him, on the right side. Hannibal stands up, looking around, smiling at his guests. “Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed guests, dear friends,“ he begins, “I'm glad you grace us with your presence tonight. This is a very special evening to me, because it's the first dinner party I'm hosting with my partner, Will Graham.” He smiles at Will who smiles back awkwardly, wondering if he is supposed to stand up or even give a speech himself. Over my dead body, Will thinks. But luckily, Hannibal doesn't seem to expect him to do anything. He continues his speech, saying: “We really hope you will enjoy the food. But before we begin you must all be warned,” -Hannibal wags his finger jokingly- “Nothing here is vegetarian. Bon appétit.” Raising his glass, he smiles and winks at Will, while his guests are laughing.

You asshole, Will thinks amused, winking back. If they only knew. Smirking, he observes the people who are eating Hannibal's food. Jack, Chilton, Alana Bloom, Mrs Komeda and all the other guests, sitting at the dining table, wearing their finest attire and eating human flesh, liver, kidney, heart, brains, sighing contently, licking their lips, complimenting Hannibal. Will starts eating as well, but in contrast to the others, he knows what he is eating. Nobody knows except us, Will thinks, smiling at Hannibal, sensing the bond and the understanding between them.

***

Later that evening, after Will took Alana to see Winston, who was overjoyed to meet her again, Jack approaches Will. “I would like to talk to you, Will,” he says. “In fact, I'd like to borrow your imagination.”

Will sighs. “I'm not a detective anymore, Jack, and I don't want to hear about dead girls and pedophiles. I don't even watch the news anymore because I can't stand hearing about all this shit.”

Jack nods. “Yes, I know how hard it's been for you. And I'm really very sorry to bother you with this, Will, but, well, you have this...special ability – what did they call it at the hospital?”

“Empathy disorder,” Will murmurs.

“Yes, that's what I mean,” Jack nods. “But even before they found a name for it, we all knew that you had this gift to solve cases nobody else could solve. It was...almost eerie at times. I know it wasn't easy for you, Will. I know you were...troubled, and I'm really glad you are better. I wouldn't bother you if it wasn't important. But seeing you again, that's such a lucky coincidence. I just have to seize the opportunity. As I said, it's important, otherwise I wouldn't ask you. There's a serial killer on the loose again. I just want you to look at a few pictures, Will.”

Will sighs. “All right. If it's so important to you...”

Jack nods. “It really is, Will, “ he answers eagerly and opens the bag he has been carrying the whole evening, extracting several pictures.

“This killer we are looking for has killed four people during the last months,” Jack explains. “The victims were publicly displayed.” He shows Will a picture. “This man for example was sitting across the aisle from himself in a school bus, the upper and the lower part of his body were, to be exact. Another victim was left near a church pew with his tongue as a page marker in the bible he was reading.”

“How theatrical,” Will says derisively. He looks at the pictures, suddenly frowning. “There's a distinctive brutality about this. And the bodies...they were mutilated.” He gives Jack a questioning look.

Jack nods. “Yes, the killer harvested organs from all his victims. Maybe he is selling them on the black market. Livers, kidneys, brains, lungs, a heart...In at least one case the victim, a young woman, was still alive when her liver was taken. This killer is clearly a sadist.”

Will's hands are starting to shake. “The victims...what kind of people were they?”

Jack gives Will a concerned look, glancing at his shaking hands. “Well, strange as it may sound, our killer seems to dislike people who work in customer service. Two sales managers, an IT consultant, a shop assistant. I must admit, I've met many unfriendly people in this line of business, but the idea of killing them never crossed my mind.” He chuckles.

“That's not funny, Jack,” Will says, his voice trembling.

Jack clears his throat. “No, I'm sorry, Will. You're right, it isn't. I can see you are upset. I thought...because you said you were feeling better...But I can see that...I asked too much of you. I didn't mean to upset you.” He quickly puts the pictures back in his bag.

“It's alright,” Will says absently, “Excuse me, Jack, I don't feel so good. Maybe it's the food...”

He stands up, pushing his way through the crowd as quickly as possible, hurrying to the bathroom. He kneels down in front of the toilet, opens the lid and starts throwing up. There's no way the sales managers, the IT consultant and the shop assistant were all pedophiles or murderers, he thinks. That's not why he killed them. I know why. How could I be so dumb. How could I ever believe that someone capable of butchering and eating human beings could be some kind of vigilante, killing evil people who got away with their crimes. And how could I ever participate in this, taking part in this atrocities and enjoying it. What have I become.


	15. Chapter 15

Will experiences the rest of the evening in a numb state, hardly noticing anything that's happening. When the guests finally leave, he says goodbye to them together with Hannibal, smiling mechanically. 

“I really enjoyed myself tonight, and the food was superb, as always,” says Mrs Komeda, giving Will a smile and kissing Hannibal goodbye.

“It was nice to meet you, Will, I really hope to see you again soon. And Winston, of course,“ says Alana, chuckling.

“I apologize again for upsetting you, Will, thank you for the invitation,” says Jack awkwardly.

“Good bye, Dr Lecter,” says Chilton, grinning at Hannibal. “As soon as my book is finished, I'll send you a copy. Bye, Will, and by the way, sorry for calling you a psychopath once or twice, no hard feelings, I hope. Even the best of us can make mistakes.”

Will just nods and smiles, hardly hearing what they are saying. All he can think of is Hannibal and his sudden realization about him. But I've known all along, Will is thinking. Or I should have known. I just didn't want to see. 

Finally, everybody is gone, the kitchen employees, the waiters, all the guests. Will is alone with him. Relieved, he takes a deep breath. He walks over to Hannibal and punches him in the face.

Hannibal just looks at him, blood dripping from his nose. “What was that for, Will?“ he asks, a smug grin on his face.

Will clenches his fists, about to hit him again. “You know very well what that was for, Hannibal,” he snaps. “For your lies. You know Jack told me about your murders. That's why you invited him, because you knew he would tell me and you were curious what would happen. Well, what did you expect? Did you think I'd be okay with this? I know you lied to me. You told me the people you killed for this dinner party deserved to be slaughtered like pigs.”

“They did,” Hannibal answers, his voice detached.

Will snorts. “For being – rude? Because that's your berserk button, isn't it? If I had a dollar for every time you called me or somebody else that, I'd be as rich as you. That's the worst thing for you, somebody being rude or – what did you say to Mason Verger? Discourteous. Somebody working in customer service or whatever, not knowing their place, treating you impolitely and with disrespect. Because that's all you care about, your petty little ego. You don't give a fuck about abused children or killed women or anybody else. That was just for me, for making me a killer. You don't care about anybody's life but your own.”

“That's not true, Will,” Hannibal says gravely. “I care about your life.”

Will laughs bitterly. “Yeah, sure. That's why I'm still alive, though probably being the rudest person you've ever met. You care about my life because you want me. As your fuck buddy and your murder buddy. You – you poisoned me. You made me forget what you are and what I am. You made me a monster.”

Hannibal looks Will in the eye. “I showed you what you are, Will. I just wanted you to become your true self, like I told you before. I only want what's best for you.”

Will scoffs. “Please. What do you know about my true self? You just want me to become as crazy and deranged as you are. And you are not even capable of caring about another person's well-being. You are a psychopath and a sadist. You cut out a woman's liver when she was still alive – because she was rude, for fuck's sake!”

“Well,” Hannibal says. “If I told you I knew a person who enjoys watching people being killed and slaughtered and eating their meat and who gets aroused by beating someone to death, would you say that this person might be a psychopath and a sadist, Will? And if they are, does that mean that they are incapable of caring about another person's well-being?”

Something inside Will snaps. He lunges at Hannibal, grabs him by his collar and punches him in the face again. “You asshole,” he hisses. “I didn't get aroused by beating someone to death. It was because of you, it was...”

“It was what, Will?” Hannibal asks expectantly, blood dripping from his nose and his mouth now.

Will doesn't answer. Filled with rage, he starts tearing at Hannibal's clothes, ripping them off, Hannibal's handsome suit and shirt, pulling off a few buttons in the process, ripping off his underpants, even his socks. Then he pulls Hannibal towards him and takes him to the ground. Hannibal doesn't resists, neither to being undressed, nor to being pushed down.

Still furious, Will glances down at Hannibal, who is lying on his back on the floor, naked. Hannibal is looking up at him, smiling smugly. Everything Will can think of is wiping this damn grin off Hannibal's face. Will zips open his pants and pulls down his pants and underwear. He spits in his hand, grasps his cock and jerks off till it is hard. He grabs Hannibal by the legs, lifting them, like Hannibal lifted his when they fucked for the first time after Will killed Ingram. Hannibal yields to Will, allowing him to position his body. Will knees between Hannibal's legs, brings his cock to Hannibal's hole and shoves into him quickly. 

His thrusts are deep and rough, but Hannibal is still smiling at him. When Hannibal starts caressing him, stroking Will's chest and arms, Will frowns, grabs Hannibal's wrists and pushes them down, pinning Hannibal to the ground. But if this is intended to be a punishment for Hannibal, it's clearly not working, because judging from his grin and his growing erection, Hannibal is obviously enjoying himself. Will is sure his brutal thrusts without any lube except spit must hurt, but Hannibal either doesn't care or maybe even likes the pain. Will starts moaning, losing himself in the sensation, the pleasure, the exquisite feeling of Hannibal's tight hole around his cock, feeling this body that has become so familiar to him in an entirely new, stunning way. I should have done this earlier, Will thinks. He has never even bothered suggesting this to Hannibal before, though he would have liked to, but he was sure Hannibal would never be willing to put himself in such a vulnerable position, control freak that he is. Apparently, Will was wrong.

Will doesn't want this feeling to stop, wants to fuck Hannibal forever, wants to feel his body beneath his own and forget about everything else, the people Hannibal killed, his own shock and disappointment, this whole mess that is their relationship. But then, he notices a change in Hannibal and stops moving. Hannibal's grin has disappeared, his body has gone rigid, his face is completely distorted, he is making small, whining noises, as if in pain. I hurt him, Will thinks, feeling bad despite himself. But then Hannibal starts trembling, moaning, shivering, completely losing control like he has never done before, and comes violently, spilling his semen on both of them. Will looks him in the eye, and disbelievingly, he notices the tears in Hannibal's eyes. He is crying. And finally, it dawns on Will. It's more than attraction, Will realizes, horrified. It's more than a crush. It always was. He's in love with me. Oh god, what a mess. A monster has fallen in love with me. Nothing good can come of this. Will lets go off Hannibal's wrists and caresses his face, wiping the tears and the blood away. Then he pushes into him again, desperately, still not wanting this to stop, but unable to restrain himself any longer. He comes inside Hannibal, looking down at him, and only realizes that he is crying as well when he sees his own tears falling down on Hannibal's face.

Will collapses on Hannibal, who holds him in his arms, stroking Will's back.

“I can't stay with you,” Will says, sobbing. “I have to leave.”

“Yes,” Hannibal answers, while still stroking Will, “Yes, Will, I know.”


	16. Chapter 16

Will wakes up the next morning in the master bedroom. Hannibal must have carried him there. The last thing he remembers is lying on the floor in the dining room, crying in Hannibal's arms, after acting out his anger and desperation by punching and fucking him.

Hannibal is not at home, he probably left for work. Hannibal knows Will is going to leave, and Will is surprised that he is really willing to let him go. He expected Hannibal to overpower him and bring him to the guest room again before allowing him to leave. If Will is honest with himself, a small part of him even wished he would. Wished that he could go back to the time when Hannibal was his captor and Will was at his mercy. Hannibal could invite guests again, criminals who got away with their crimes. They could kill and slaughter them, and Will would feel the thrill and the exhilaration again. They would eat human meat, would talk and fuck. And none of this would be Will's fault because he could always blame it on the circumstances, on the fact that he was a prisoner who had to bond with his captor to survive. 

But Will knows he can't go back to this time, and of course he doesn't really want to. He knows that he has to go. For two and a half month, Hannibal has been the center of his life. He feels as if he forgot who he is without him and has to find himself again.

Will wonders briefly why Hannibal left without saying goodbye, but it doesn't take him long to find the answer. Because he is devastated and doesn't want Will to see him crying again. Because he's in love with him and the thought of Will leaving breaks his heart. It's his own fault, Will thinks. Why did he have to invite Jack? He must have known I would find out about the murders. Did he really hope I wouldn't mind him killing rude people? Was it a test? A test I failed?

Will packs his old clothes and some dog food into his bag while Winston is pulling on the leash, as if eager to leave.

Will sighs. “You never liked him, did you? Well, I guess I'm not the only one whose relationship with Hannibal is complicated.” 

He leaves the house together with his dog, closing the door behind him and not looking back.

***

Will finds a job in a bike shop, repairing and selling bikes. He enjoys working with his hands, but the customers and their impoliteness and insolence often annoy him. Will is reminded of Hannibal who killed people working in customer service. It's the customers he should have killed for being rude, Will thinks sarcastically.

He rents a small apartment, for himself and Winston. Compared to his life with Hannibal, even compared to his life as a homicide detective, with his wife and his stepson, his new life is modest and humble, but all in all, he is doing all right, much better than he did before he met Hannibal. He changed me, Will realizes, and not just in a bad way. I don't know exactly how he did it, but somehow, he helped me to get rid of my nightmares and to overcome my anxiety and depression.

Will starts adjusting to his new life, and there are times when he doesn't even think about Hannibal for a day or two. 

And then there are the times when he can't stop thinking about him.

When he wakes up thinking of Hannibal. His smile, his soft voice, his hands caressing his cheek. His body and the pleasure and lust it made him feel. The way Hannibal talked to him, their strange therapy sessions. Hannibal confessing to him in his peculiar, elaborate way that he wanted to make him a killer. And of course, the killings. Hannibal killing Mason Verger with Will watching, Will killing Clark Ingram with Hannibal watching. The joy and excitement the killings made him experience and the bond they brought forth between him and Hannibal.

At these times, Will tries everything to distract himself and to forget, but to no avail.

***

On his way home from work, Will always passes by a kiosk which sells newspapers and magazines. He still hardly ever reads or watches the news, fearing that his nightmares might return. But one day, about three months after he left Hannibal, a headline catches his eye, making him stop.

DEAD BODY FOUND IN CHURCH

Under the headline, there is a picture of a body, grotesquely twisted into the shape of a human heart.

Will finds himself overcome by a sudden feeling of apprehension and dread. He buys the newspaper and walks home quickly. He starts reading as soon as he is at home, with a racing heart and shaking hands. The article is about the murder of a British tourist, and when Will sees his picture, he notices immediately that the man resembles him. The tourist was murdered, decapitated and skinned. The body was trimmed at hands, arms and legs, every bone was fractured, and the body was pulled out of shape to resemble a human heart. The corpse was publicly displayed at a local church, in front of the altar. 

How theatrical, Will thinks, and although there weren't any organs taken this time, Will knows this can only be Hannibal's work. He knows just by looking at the dead body. It's like art, like a sculpture. It's creepy, bizarre, scary and at the same time... stunningly beautiful. It's like Hannibal himself. And for once, this is not about harvesting organs for a fancy dinner, and it's not about rudeness. Will knows this time it's about him. This is a valentine written on a broken man. Hannibal left Will his broken heart, sending him a message to show him how much he loves and how much he misses him and how sad and disappointed he is.

Will takes a deep breath, wondering what he is supposed to do now.

I can't let him kill for me. Not anymore. I have to do something about this, he thinks. He knows he should have done something before, as soon as he found out about the people Hannibal killed for the dinner party. But he didn't because he didn't want to incriminate himself and...because despite everything, he didn't want Hannibal to end up in prison.

And there is one thing Will just can't get out of his head, as much as he tries to. He keeps asking himself if this tourist and Hannibal were lovers. He surely was Hannibal's type.

Angrily, Will crumples the newspaper in his hand. Why do I even care? What's wrong with me? Leaving him wasn't enough, I'm still under his spell. It's time to finally free myself from him.

He takes his phone and calls Jack Crawford.


	17. Chapter 17

Jack gives Will a doubtful look. He is sitting on Will's couch, petting Winston absently, who is lying on the couch next to Jack.

“So you are seriously telling me, Will, that your ex-partner, Dr Lecter, is a cannibal and a killer? That you killed together with him and...ate the victim's meat? And that you both...made us eat people at the dinner party?”

Will sighs. “Yes, that's what I'm telling you, Jack.”

“You have to admit that this sounds like a crazy horror story, something completely absurd that just doesn't happen in real life.”

Will nods. “I'm aware of that. But we both know that human beings are capable of committing the most horrific crimes in real life. If our job has taught us anything, it's that. And we know as well that you can't necessarily tell by looking at somebody what they really are. That somebody may seem like a nice, regular person though they are really...something entirely different. Like a murderer. Or a cannibal.”

“That's true,” Jack agrees. “But if you really want me to believe this story, tell me one thing. Why did you participate if he didn't force you? Why did you...become a cannibal? Why did you kill this guy, Ingram? And even if it's true that you were Hannibal's prisoner...if he set you free after three weeks, why did you stay with him for another two month, Will? I've seen you at the dinner party. You told me you were doing better, and I could tell you were. When you were sitting at the dining table next to Dr Lecter, you were positively beaming. You were happy, honestly, I've never seen you that happy ever before. You didn't give the impression of someone who was afraid or under pressure or anything. Not at all. So – are you claiming that he...seduced you and you started enjoying killing and eating human flesh, and then you suddenly had qualms because you found out that he didn't just kill evil people?”

Will sighs again. “More or less. It's hard to explain. Hannibal...manipulated me. He knew how to influence me, and he knew what kind of people I'd be willing to kill and...eat. He knew how vulnerable I was at that time and that I was...already in a dark place, after everything that had happened before. When I was his prisoner, I didn't have anything but him, I was completely at his mercy. I tried to resist, but it didn't work. I'm not a psychologist, but I think it might have been Stockholm syndrome or capture bonding or whatever you want to call it. I completely lost myself, and I lost my moral compass. Suddenly, right became wrong and vice versa and...killing and eating people became normal. Even when I was free I was still under his influence. I think I didn't want to see what he really was. I wanted to believe that he was a good person in his own way, ridding the world of evil. I know it's wrong to take the law into one's own hands, but honestly, show me a detective who never thought about it, after frequently seeing people getting away with the worst crimes. But I don't want to absolve myself, I knew what I was doing, and I'm aware that it was wrong. And apart from holding me captive against my will, Hannibal never forced me to do anything.”

Will stops talking, suddenly feeling ashamed. He feels like a traitor, as if he is defiling everything that happened between him and Hannibal, making something beautiful seem bad and wrong. But on the other hand, he knows that what he told Jack wasn't a lie. It's a question of perspective, he thinks. With Hannibal, it's always both. Beauty and horror, love and manipulation, right and wrong. Nothing is ever easy or unambiguous.

“You realize that you risk being convicted and going to prison by telling me all this?” Jack asks, frowning.

Will nods. “Yes, I know. I'm willing to go to prison. I want him to be punished and not to be able to kill innocent people again, let alone for me. That's all that matters.”

Jack sighs. “Well, we'll see...if you were really suffering from Stockholm syndrome, you might be able to escape punishment. But it won't be easy to arrest him, Will. We need evidence. The organs of the four victims that were publicly displayed were surgically removed, and of course this makes Dr Lecter a suspect, because he used to be a surgeon. That's one reason why I'm willing to at least consider that your accusations might be true. But without any evidence, there's nothing we can do. Though I'm sure if he's really what you claim him to be, sooner or later he will make a mistake.”

“I hope so,” Will answers. “But Hannibal is far from sloppy when it comes to his crimes, he knows how to get away with murder. Evidence won't be easy to find. And be careful, Jack,” Will warns him, “He's dangerous.”

***

About a week later, when Will is back home after work, he notices that somebody left a voice message on his phone. Apparently, Will didn't realize that somebody called him while he was working. Suddenly feeling apprehensive, he listens to the message and almost drops his phone in shock.

“Will, it's Jack. I really shouldn't have done this, but...I couldn't help myself. I did some research and found out that Dr Lecter is at a conference in Washington, D.C. today, giving a speech on psychopathology, of all things,” Will can hear Jack giving a bellow of laughter, then he continues talking: “I really shouldn't have come here without a search warrant, but after all the things you told me about him, I got really curious and just had to seize the opportunity... It's incredible, Will. I'm in the basement you told me about. It's exactly like you described it. It looks like a slaughterhouse in here. And I think I may have found...human remains. I'm going to call you later.”

Will stares at his phone incredulously, then he calls Jack. But Jack doesn't answer, and the call goes to voicemail. 

Agitated, Will starts talking. “Jack, if you hear this, please do as I say. Leave Hannibal's house immediately. I'm positive it's a trap. Get out of there, Jack. STAY AWAY FROM HANNIBAL LECTER!!”

Will ends the call, grabs his jacket and leaves his apartment hurriedly, slamming the door shut behind him.


	18. Chapter 18

When Will arrives at Hannibal's place, the front door is open. He walks in, his heart pounding rapidly, terrified of what he might find. 

What if Hannibal killed Jack? What if Jack killed...? Oh god, Will is thinking, that's not what I wanted. I made a mistake. If something happened to him, it's my fault.

He walks along the hall and down the stairs to the basement. There is no sound, but Will knows he's not alone. The room is dark, and Will turns on the light. 

Jack is lying on the floor, motionless and in a puddle of blood. Hannibal is standing beside him, a linoleum knife in his hand. Will sighs with relief, hating himself for it. He walks closer, looking down at Jack, at his blank eyes, his still body, covered in blood.

Then he gives Hannibal a glance. He is staring at Will, his face bloody, his eyes full of rage and sadness at the same time. Will realizes how much he missed Hannibal, and despite everything, his first impulse is to embrace him. I'd better not, Will thinks. He'd probably gut me with the linoleum knife.

“Jack was a good guy,” Will says reproachfully. “He has a wife, Bella. She's suffering from lung cancer. She's all alone now.”

“I'm very sorry to hear that, Will,” Hannibal answers in a calm voice. “But I had no option. He invaded my home and found the basement and remnants of my latest victim in the fridge.”

Will scoffs. “You knew he would come here, Hannibal. You trapped him, like you trapped me.”

“You are the one who trapped me, Will,” Hannibal responds, his voice suddenly cold and hateful, like he has never spoken to him before. “You sent this fool here. You would deny me my life.”

Will shakes his head violently. “No, not your life. That's not what I wanted. I was afraid that you might be dead...and the mere thought...I can't even...” His voice trails off.

“My freedom then, you would take that from me. Confine me to a prison cell.”

“That's exactly what you did to me, remember?” Will can't help saying.

“I gave you your freedom back, and much more, Will. I gave you are rare gift, but you didn't want it.”

“If you are talking about the mutilated body in the church,” Will snaps, “I'm sorry, Hannibal, but I'm afraid that's not the kind of gift I appreciate.”

Hannibal sighs. “That's not what I was talking about, though I must admit that it saddens me that you don't appreciate my work. I was referring to the gift I gave you when you were with me. I made you see your potential and helped you to become your true self. And I let you see who I really am, a privilege I haven't granted anybody for a very long time.”

“No, you didn't let me see you, not really. You didn't tell me the truth about you. You made me believe that you were some kind of vigilante who kills and eats evil people.”

“That's what you chose to believe,” Hannibal answers. “I've never claimed to be anything of that kind. And I must admit that the whole concept seems a bit presumptuous to me. Who are we, Will, to determine who is good and who is evil and to kill accordingly, when even god kills indiscriminately? And if god is not haunted by guilt for this, why should we? Killing must feel good to god. He does it all the time. To me, your choice of victims appears to be merely a means to justify your delight in wickedness.”

“Are you telling me again, Hannibal, that I'm as psychopathic and as sadistic as you? And did you just dare to compare yourself to god? Now that's what I call presumptuous. You don't kill indiscriminately, you kill people because they annoy you or because you want to make someone a killer or to get back at your ex. That's not godlike, that's pathetic. That's what you are, a pathetic, selfish creep.”

Hannibal takes a step closer to him, and Will can see the linoleum knife in his hand. He drops to his knees.

“Please,” he says,” looking up at Hannibal, “Please, don't.”

Will remembers another time, when he did the same thing, dropping to his knees in front of Hannibal and begging. At that time, he was begging for Winston, now he is begging for his own life.

Maybe Hannibal remembers the same thing because Will can feel Hannibal softly caressing his hair, just like he did back then. But then Hannibal's grip becomes rougher, grabbing Will's hair firmly. He zips open his pants, takes his cock and brings it to Will's mouth. Will opens his mouth, caresses the tip of Hannibal's cock with his tongue and takes it as deep as he can. He puts his hands on Hannibal's hips while Hannibal is fucking his mouth with deep, hard thrusts, making Will gag and his eyes well up with tears. Like the one time when he fucked Hannibal, after the dinner party, Will doesn't want this to end, doesn't want them to fight and hurt each other again. When he finally tastes Hannibal's sperm, he clings to his hips with desperation and doesn't want to let him go. But Hannibal pulls out, pushes Will's hands away and takes a step back.

“I see,” he says, getting dressed again, “that you are willing to do quite a lot to save your life, Will.”

Will swallows Hannibal's semen and looks up at him defiantly. “Of course I don't want you to kill me and am willing to do quite a lot to save my life. Who wouldn't be? But you know I've never needed a reason to give you a blow job, and I never will. You don't have to threaten to kill me to make me go down on you. I will always love doing it because I will always be attracted to you. I can't help it. Just like I will always be in love with you, as much as I hate it.”

Hannibal stares at him, his face blank. “That's quite a cruel way of manipulating me, Will,” he says. “Even for you.”

Will shakes his head. He stands up, looks Hannibal in the eye and hugs him. He is not afraid anymore. He knows Hannibal won't hurt him. Hannibal freezes, but after a moment, Will can feel him hugging him back.

“I'm not trying to manipulate you,” Will answers. “It's true. I love you. I don't want to, but there's nothing I can do about it. But I can't be with you because I don't want to become like you. I'm sorry that I tried to get you arrested, I know it was a mistake. I can't stand the thought of you being in a cage, behind bars. I want you to leave, Hannibal. Please go, Jack may have told a colleague where he was going or called backup before you killed him. Leave, go away as far as you can and never come back.” Will is crying, and when he looks at Hannibal, he can see tears in his eyes as well. Again, he is reminded of the sex after the dinner party, when he realized that Hannibal was in love with him.

Hannibal strokes his cheek, a gesture that has become so dear to Will and that he will always associate with Hannibal. He can't even imagine anybody else doing this without him flinching and thinking that it feels wrong.

“You are not ready yet, Will,” Hannibal says softly. “But soon the time will come when you will see. You will finally realize how unique and beautiful you are and your potential will come true. And I will be there, standing right beside you. Good bye, Will.”

With this words, he lets go off Will and walks upstairs without looking back.


	19. Chapter 19

The police arrive just a few minutes later. Apparently, Jack called them before he was murdered. Will is just about to leave the basement, still shaken up after his encounter with Hannibal, when two policemen enter the room, screaming and pointing their guns at him. Reluctantly, he raises his hands. 

He is taken to the police station and interviewed by two former co-workers who glance at him uncomfortably

He tells them that Jack was killed by Hannibal because there is no point in denying it to protect him. The police already know that Jack was investigating Hannibal due to Will's accusations and will definitely find Hannibal's blood at the crime scene. 

Afterwards, Beverly, another former co-worker Will always got along with when he was still a detective, is examining Will and taking blood samples.

Beverly is working in silence for a few minutes, then she sighs and says, looking at Will: “I can't do the silent treatment. I can't pretend I don't know you. I'm sure you didn't kill Jack, Will. He is covered in blood, and according to the evidence, there has been a fight between him and his killer. If you had murdered him, you should be full of blood as well, which you aren't.” She gives him a thorough look and frowns. “There is some blood, though. On your chest, arms, face and hair. Do you know how it got there?”

Will looks down. “From hugging Jack's killer.” And from giving him a blow job, he thinks.

“Dr Lecter? After he killed Jack?” Beverly asks, and Will nods.

“Why? Why on earth did you do that? What's wrong with you, Will? What happened to you?”

Will shrugs. “I'm not sure. I'm not sure what happened to me, Beverly” he answers. “I guess I happened.”

***

Though it is established that Will didn't kill Jack, he is still hold in custody and charged with accessory to murder. The voice messages on Jack's and on Will's phone clearly show that Will knew Hannibal was a murderer and kept a slaughterhouse in his basement. He told nobody except Jack about Mason Verger and Clark Ingram, but Will is aware there's a good chance that he will be convicted as accessory. Even his lawyer didn't give Will much hope, but oddly, this doesn't even scare him. All he can think of is Hannibal and his last words. He still didn't give up on me, he thinks. He still hoped that we would be together, one day, though I kept telling him that we couldn't. Well, I guess even Hannibal should realize now that with me being incarcerated and him on the run, there's no chance of us being together ever again.

A few days before his trial begins, Will has a visitor, the first one apart from his lawyer since he was incarcerated.

Surprisedly, he looks at the young woman.

“Dr Bloom. What are you doing here?”

Dr Bloom is giving him a cold, contemptuous look. “Hannibal sends me.”

Will, who has been sitting on his bed, stands up. “Hannibal?” he repeats, excitedly. “Did you see him? Where is he?”

“I have no idea where he is and honestly, I don't want to know. He contacted me and asked me to talk to you. I didn't want to, I know what he did, it's been all over the news, and I know what you and Hannibal fed us at the dinner party, Mr Graham. Just thinking about it makes me want to throw up. But I had to come here. First of all, I was afraid what Hannibal might do to me if I refused, and besides...I owe you one. Both of you.”

“Why? What are you talking about?” Will asks bewilderedly.

Alana looks him in the eye. “It's because of my fiancee. Margot. Margot Verger, Mason's sister.”

“Mason's sister is your fiancee?” What a coincidence, Will is thinking, but then it occurs to him that it's probably not a coincidence at all. He is sure that somehow, Hannibal was responsible for them meeting and falling in love.

Alana Bloom nods. “Yes. Hannibal told us that he killed Mason because you asked him to. When Mason went missing, we hoped that something might have happened to him, but we were afraid he would come back. And when Hannibal told us he was dead...Margot cried for an hour. At first, I thought she was grieving, but then I realized that she was crying with joy. She's a completely different person now, I hardly recognize her. She's...carefree, bubbling over with laughter, just..happy. I've realized only now that she has been in a state of constant fear for her whole life, because of her brother. Mason...was a bad person, but I guess you know. He did...unspeakable things to her. And now, Margot proposed to me and said she wanted us to have a child. She never wanted one before, probably because she was afraid her brother might...hurt them. Our life has changed so much, for the better, and for that I will always be grateful to you, despite everything.”

Will can't help smiling. “I'm glad, really. I'm happy for you, Alana.”

The young woman clears her throat. “I'd prefer you to call me Dr Bloom, Mr Graham. The reason why I'm here is that Hannibal wants me to tell you that he found you a lawyer.”

“A lawyer? I've already got one.”

“Well, obviously, Hannibal is of the opinion that a public defender won't be good enough. He told me that he already worked out the most appropriate defense with your new lawyer.”

Will scoffs. “Did he? Don't I have a say in this at all?”

Dr Bloom shrugs. “Apparently you don't. Hannibal was adamant that you have to stick with the new lawyer he chose if you ever want to get out of here. He also expects you to support your lawyer's defense and agree to everything, whether you will like it or not.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Will asks suspiciously, and Dr Bloom shrugs again.

“I have no idea and I don't care. I've done what Hannibal asked me to, now we are even, and what happens to you or Hannibal is none of my business anymore. Good bye, Mr. Graham.”

She turns around, about to leave, when Will is calling after her.

“Dr Bloom? I'd like to ask you for one more thing.”

Dr Bloom turns around again and gives Will a questioning look, frowning.

“Winston,” Will says. “I told my lawyer to bring him to the dog shelter. I didn't know what else to do, but I'm sure he's not happy there. Would you take care of him again? Please.”

Dr Bloom smiles slightly, reminding Will finally a bit of the friendly, chuckling woman he met at the dinner party.

“Of course. I like Winston, and it's not his fault. I'm positive Margot will like him, too. Good bye.”

***

The next day, Will meets the new lawyer. The middle aged, well dressed man introduces himself as Mr. Jackson.

“Hannibal finding me a lawyer is going to give a bad impression,” Will points out.

The lawyer smiles. “Officially, this is going to be a pro bono case. Nobody will be able to make a connection between me and Dr Lecter. I'm going to get straight to the point, Mr. Graham. Did you tell anybody about your crimes yet?”

Will shakes his head. “No,” he answers reluctantly, wondering what the lawyer knows. “ I- all I told them was that Hannibal killed Jack. And because they had already found the human meat in the fridge and heard Jack's message on my voicemail, I told them I knew that Hannibal was a cannibal.”

“Good.” The lawyer nods, clearly unimpressed. “When the trial starts, don't confess anything you did. Blame everything on Dr Lecter and tell them that he captivated, threatened and raped you.”

“What?” Will is staring at him indignantly. “I won't say that. I mean, he captivated me, but he didn't...it's not true.”

Mr Jackson smirks. “It's not about the truth, Mr Graham. It's about getting you out of here. Our defense will be that you acted under duress. Wait a minute, Dr Lecter told me exactly what you are supposed to say.” He extracts a piece of paper from his briefcase and reads: “Dr Lecter hold you prisoner, forced himself on you and made you watch him kill and slaughter people. You were living under the constant threat of him killing and cannibalizing you as well. It didn't take Dr Lecter long to break you, because you were already unstable and suffering from anxiety and depression when you met him. After having destroyed and traumatized you completely, he set you free, but forced you to stay with him for two more months by threatening that otherwise he'd murder you. Luckily, thanks to your empathy disorder, you knew what Dr Lecter expected of you, which helped you to survive your ordeal and to pretend at his behest that you were enjoying yourself at the dinner party. After two month, you were finally able to convince your tormentor to let you go. Because of your fear and your unstable mental state, it took you another three months to finally do the right thing and contact the police. When you realized that Dr Lecter trapped your former boss, Mr Crawford, you rushed to Dr Lecter's house to save him – Mr Crawford, of course, not Dr Lecter- , but Crawford was already dead. Dr Lecter was still in the basement when you arrived, but escaped after forcing you to perform oral sex.”

What the fuck, Hannibal, Will is thinking and is about to say something when the lawyer adds: 

“Dr Lecter said unfortunately, it was necessary to mention the last part because there might be...some traces that could be found. Just in case.”.

Will can't argue with that. “Where is he?” he asks, hiding his embarrassment. “Where is Hannibal? Does he really want me to say all these things?”

The lawyer nods. “Yes, he does. Obviously, getting you out of here is more important to him than his reputation. Not that there's much left of his reputation anyway, now that everybody knows about his... diet.” He winks at Will. “I have no idea where he is, Mr Graham. He covered his tracks when he contacted me, which I'm very glad about. Otherwise, he'd probably have to kill and eat me.” He chuckles, ignoring the disapproving look Will is giving him.


	20. Chapter 20

It is easier than he thought.

Will still remembers how everything began. He remembers being terrified when Hannibal captured him, fearing for his life. Remembers Hannibal smashing his head against the wall, remembers that he feared Hannibal would rape and then murder and cannibalize him.

He just has to remember all these things, amplify them, add more details, describe some of his worst fears as real events that actually happened.

He tells the court everything he is supposed to say, describing Hannibal as a monster, a torturer without mercy who took delight in Will's pain and humiliation.

Will is looking at the prosecutor, the judge, the spectators while he is telling these lies, and he realizes that they believe every word he says. Because they want to believe him. They want to believe that someone like Hannibal, capable of murdering and eating humans, is capable of all evil of this world. They want to see him as a devil incarnate, want to dehumanize him. If Hannibal, despite being a monster, were capable of having a relationship, of loving and being loved, it would scare them. Because if a monster were also human, then maybe on the other hand, all of them, who consider themselves human, could also be monsters. That's why they want to see him as something almost supernaturally evil, a fiend, something outside humanity, so that they don't have to confront their own darkness.

Will doesn't feel bad for lying about Hannibal, for publicly bad-mouthing their relationship because he knows that's what Hannibal wanted. He tells them parts of the truth as well, at his lawyer's instruction. He tells them about Mason's death, without admitting that he asked Hannibal to kill him, he tells them about Clark Ingram, but claims that Hannibal murdered him. He tells them he didn't know that the meat at the dinner party was people, while actually not knowing what kind of people it was. He tells them that he contacted Jack because he wanted Hannibal to get arrested, which he did indeed at that time but doesn't anymore.

After being Hannibal's prisoner for three weeks and living with him for another two month, Will thought he knew him intimately, but during the trial, Will comes to realize that there are still things he didn't know and understand about Hannibal. He learns about various murders Hannibal committed, in the U.S. and in Europe. Hannibal not only took his victims' organs, but also publicly displayed many of them, like the people whose meat he served at the dinner party or the British tourist whose body he twisted into a heart.

The first murders of this kind that are suspected to be Hannibal's doing were committed twenty years ago in Florence, Italy. Hannibal arranged two murder victims to look like a detail from a painting by Botticelli, located in the Uffizi Gallery in Florence. When Will sees a photography of the crime scene, he realizes that for Hannibal, it's not just about killing and eating rude people and about being theatrical. It's also about creating beauty, Will is thinking. About finding beauty where everybody else would see only horror, and confronting us with this, making us see what he sees, questioning our own definition of beauty as much as our values and decency.

Will's former psychiatrists are questioned at the trial, first the psychiatrist who treated Will when he was at the mental hospital. She is describing Will as an unstable, damaged individual, depressed, anxious, autistic and suffering from an empathy disorder. Mr Jackson is pleased with her statement that supports his defense.

Then Frederick Chilton gives his testimony, clearly enjoying the attention. When the prosecutor asks him about Will's mental state, he answers with a smug smile: “Will Graham manifests publicly as an introverted personality. He would like us to believe he places on the spectrum, somewhere near Asperger's or autism. Yet he also claims an empathy disorder. He has carefully constructed a persona to hide his real nature from the world.”

“And what would that real nature be?” the prosecutor asks, and Chilton answers, still smiling:

“I have objectively examined Will Graham when he was a detective, and he has definitely psychopathic and sadistic tendencies. I'm positive that he was a willing participant in Lecter's crimes.”

Will gives him a death glare, thinking how strange it is that this fool actually figured out the truth and that his opinion about Will seems to be not so different from Hannibal's. Well, maybe they are not altogether wrong, Will is thinking while fantasizing about snapping Chilton's neck.

But fortunately, Chilton's testimony doesn't harm the defense. While the first psychiatrist is highly regarded, having published several papers in scientific journals, Chilton is completely unknown in scientific circles and has not been able yet to find a publisher for his book about psychopathology, as Will's lawyer points out. 

The judge dismisses Chilton's testimony and believes the defense's argumentation that Will acted under duress. He is acquitted on all counts.

After the trial, Will thanks his lawyer and asks him to thank Hannibal as well, and Mr Jackson smiles.

“I will, if he contacts me again. Good luck, Mr Graham.”

Will is able to leave the court by a back door, unnoticed, but he is sure that he won't be able to elude the press and the public for long. Everybody is curious to find out more about Hannibal's poor victim, the homeless, unstable former detective. Will enters a supermarket to buy something to change his appearance so he won't be recognized, maybe a hat or glasses, but suddenly, a newspaper stand draws his attention. Will takes a magazine and reads the headline, frowning. He buys the magazine and a base cap and leaves the shop quickly.

Outside, Will puts the base cap on, sits down on a bench and starts reading the magazine, his frown deepening. When he is finished, Will stands up, throws the magazine in a nearby trash bin and walks along the street.

It takes him a while to reach his destination, but having been homeless, Will is used to walking for hours and doesn't mind.

He walks to the front door and rings the bell. The door opens, and a man is staring at him, confused.

“Hello, Will. Honestly, you were the last person I expected to pay me a visit.”

Will smiles.

“Hello, Frederick,” he says.


	21. Chapter 21

Will regards his work and smiles.

He is quite proud of himself, and he knows Hannibal will be proud as well when he finds out.

The body is sitting on a wooden box that Will found in the basement, naked, with its chin resting on its right hand in a contemplating pose.

Though it's not Botticelli, Will is sure that Hannibal will understand the reference and will see the irony of Chilton being elevated in death to someone he vainly aspired to be in life.

Will is much obliged to Molly, who decided one day that Wally “should be exposed to art to broaden his horizon”, dragging Will and his stepson to the Baltimore Museum of Art.

Looking at himself and his messy appearance, Will decides to take a shower to wash off the blood and to put on new clothes afterwards.

He goes to the bathroom and undresses himself to take a shower. While the warm water is pouring down on him, Will is wondering what just happened. He remembers the words he said to Beverly before the trial. ' I'm not sure what happened to me. I guess I happened.' Will knows that Frederick Chilton was just an annoying prick, not a monster, like Mason Verger or Clark Ingram. Or Hannibal. But oddly, Will doesn't even care. He feels just as elated and as euphoric as he did after killing Ingram. Maybe Hannibal was right and Will's moral code was merely a means of justification because he couldn't accept his own true nature yet. But now he does. Will doesn't delude himself anymore. He has accepted his darkness, his own monstrosity, and he knows Hannibal didn't create it. He just made Will realize and finally accept what he is.

 

Before Will is leaving the house, he turns around, giving Chilton's body one last look.

“It's not very smart to let a guy into your house who you believe to be a killer,“ he says. “Especially after writing a bunch of crap about his partner. You play, you pay, Frederick.” Smiling, he closes the door behind him. He doesn't even bother to remove his traces. He wants them to know.

***

Will has been on the street for three days now. He is wearing his base cap, a spectacle frame without glasses and hides his face behind a growing beard. Nevertheless, he is still afraid of being recognized.

Having passed many newsstands and even dared to buy some papers, he knows it's the top story in every newspaper and definitely on the internet and on TV as well. Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter's alleged victim, committed a murder and turned the body into a sculpture. A few newspapers are speculating that Lecter is back in Baltimore and forced Will to commit the crime. However, the general opinion is that Will is not the victim he appeared to be, but in fact Lecter's accomplice, who murdered his former psychologist and turned his corpse into art, following Lecter's lead.

Will is sure that Hannibal already found out, but he doesn't know how to contact him without risking to be arrested. Up to now, he has been confident that Hannibal will find a way, but after roaming the streets for days, mostly at night to minimize the risk of being recognized, Will is starting to feel desperate. Maybe something happened to him, he is thinking, or he doesn't want me back? But Will knows that's not possible.

I'm back where I started, I'm just worse off, Will muses while walking along the pavement. I'm on the street again and don't know where to go and what to do, but now I don't even have Winston with me, and I'm wanted for murder.

Suddenly, an idea crosses his mind, and Will stops. I'm back where I started, he is thinking again. Smiling, he turns around, his pace suddenly quicker and more confident.

When he finally reaches Hannibal's house, Will is looking around, making sure that there is no police in the area. Then he quickly walks to the trash can and opens it.

It is empty, apart from an envelope with just one word on it: 'Will.' Will wonders if Mr Jackson placed the envelope in the trash can. It's possible, but Will is sure that the lawyer is not the only agency Hannibal has in the world.

Will leans forward to take the envelope, opens it and smiles, looking at the airplane ticket and the passport.

Of course, he is thinking. Where else would he go?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sculpture Will's "work" is referring to is this one: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Thinker
> 
> There is one cast of this sculpture in the Baltimore Museum of Art.


	22. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter, which is going to be fluffy with a happy ending. :) I hope you liked this story, thank you for reading, commenting and leaving kudos. :)

“If I saw you every day, forever, Will, I would remember this time,” Hannibal says. “I can hardly express how happy I am, laying eyes on you again. How did you know you would find me here?”

Will beams at Hannibal while sitting down next to him in front of the Botticelli painting in the Uffizi Gallery. He runs a hand through his non existing curls, his new appearance making him slightly self-conscious. His hair is short cropped and his face clean-shaven to match the photo on his passport and prevent him from being recognized. Will hardly recognized himself when he looked in the mirror, but luckily, his changed appearance had the desired effect, enabling him to travel to Italy undetected. Hannibal looks as beautiful as Will remembers him, wearing a fine, but rather modest suit, tanned, every hair in place, smiling back at Will.

“I'm happy to see you, too, Hannibal. And when you sent me the airplane ticket to Italy, I just knew you would come here, to the place of your becoming, to celebrate mine. Where else would you go?”

Hannibal's smile deepens. “I was pleased to learn that your potential eventually came true, Will. May I ask how that occurred? What made you overcome your scruples concerning the choice of your victims?”

Will shrugs. “I'm not entirely sure...Chilton being an asshole, I guess. Suddenly, I just...understood. Or I allowed myself to understand. I understood why you did it and how you could do it, killing people who aren't evil, without feeling guilty. I didn't care anymore if it was righteous to kill Chilton, I just...killed him. Because I wanted to. But don't get your hopes up, that doesn't mean I'm going to do everything you want me to and kill every victim you choose, Hannibal,” Will points out.

Hannibal chuckles softly. “I don't expect you to, on the contrary. Your defiance and your stubbornness are part of your charm. If I wanted somebody to blindly follow my commands, I'd rather get a dog than a partner.”

Will laughs. “Don't underestimate dogs, Hannibal. And speaking of dogs, don't forget you've already got one.”

“What are you talking about, Will?” Hannibal asks, and Will notices the apprehensive look in his eyes with amusement.

“Winston, who else. I didn't bring him to Italy with me, because it would have drawn too much attention, he is still with Alana, but of course I'm planning to get him soon. And I expect you to help me with that.”

Hannibal sighs resignedly. “Of course I will help you if you really wish to further complicate our situation with a dog, in addition to us being on the run.”

Will nods. “Yes, I do. Get over it, as long as you will be with me, you won't get rid of him. And it's about time that the two of you get used to each other and overcome your jealousy.”

“I'm certainly not jealous of a dog,” Hannibal says with a frown.

“No, certainly not,” Will answers, smiling.

“I was really proud when I learned of your work, Will,” Hannibal adds, changing the subject. “You made Chilton in death what he never could have been in life. You elevated him to art, turning him into a thinker, a philosopher with an outstanding intellectual capacity. Everything he always wished to be, but would have never become. I really appreciated the irony.”

“I knew you would,” Will responds. “And it just served this fool right. Though I have to admit he was partly right about me, the things he wrote about you were just – how would you phrase it? Rude. Calling you 'Hannibal the Cannibal' and claiming that you became a killer and a cannibal because you were orphaned at a very young age and your mother didn't breastfeed you – lazy psychiatry, just tasteless. And to have the audacity to speculate about our sex life and to call you 'perverted' and 'a freak'...he had to pay for that.”

Hannibal gives Will an affectionate smile. “May I remind you that you have also called me many very rude things since we met, Will?”

Will nods. “True, but that's different. I'm entitled to do that because I love you.”

Hannibal beams at him. “You know I feel the same about you, Will. And as we are just discussing your last victim, I would like to suggest a new one that we might kill together. A journalist, if one can call her that, who happens to be a very rude individual. She is writing for this horrendous website 'TattleCrime'.”

Will laughs. “Freddie Lounds? Yeah, I know her. She also writes for a magazine, I bought it at the airport. Really rude, I agree, and I must admit that I did think about killing her. But I've changed my mind. Actually, I'm grateful to her. She gave me an idea.”

“What kind of idea could this person possibly give you, Will?” Hannibal asks, frowning.

Will takes a deep breath and stands up. He is standing in front of Hannibal for a moment, then he drops on his knees.

“Hannibal,” he says gravely, looking up at him, “You know we've come a long way. I was your prisoner, and you made me a cannibal and a killer before I became your lover and your partner. We've betrayed and hurt each other, and we've made each other happy. I've never known myself as well as I know myself when I'm with you. You understand me like nobody else does, and you complete me. I know you feel the same, and I want to ask you...will you marry me, Hannibal?”

Hannibal is staring at him in bewilderment for a few moments. Then he quickly regains his composure and says: “You should stand up, Will, otherwise, we will draw attention, which is definitely not a good idea, regarding the circumstances. And concerning your question...I'm not entirely sure whether you are serious. You are aware that we are currently living under a false identity, using false documents. I don't see a way of getting married to you without endangering our cover.”

Will stands up and sits down next to Hannibal again. “Of course the marriage wouldn't be legally binding,” he answers, slightly annoyed and disappointed. “I know that's not possible. I was thinking of something just for both of us, some kind of...ritual or a ceremony to celebrate us and what we have. Our bond, our love. Something that will be meaningful to us though it won't be legally binding. What do you think about that, Hannibal? Will you be my murder husband?”

Hannibal is laughing, one of his rare laughters Will finds so endearing, showing crooked teeth and laugh lines. “Of course I will. Always. I love you, Will. And I'm looking forward especially to the wedding night.” Hannibal winks at Will.

Will chuckles. “I think we have already consummated our relationship in every possible way, Hannibal.”

“That's true,” Hannibal agrees. “But that doesn't mean it can't be beautiful.”

Will nods. “It will be beautiful,” he says, taking Hannibal's hand.


End file.
